Panes of Glass
by Trixter82
Summary: It is a cruel world with little chance for redemption that AllanaDale finds himself in, and when love strikes the world spirals out of control for both of them. An AllanDjaq story post ep 205. Pairings: AllanDjaq, RobinMarian, onesided WillDjaq
1. Chapter 1

**Well this is my new miltuchapter fic. It is Allan/Djaq pairing, so if you don't like that just don't read it. There is a lso Robin/Marian and onesided Will/Djaq in there. **

**It is a sad, sad story so if you have problem with angst... Well don't read it lol**

**Now I have told people twise not to read it... BUT if you like angst and like Allan/Djaq you have definitly come to the right place. This first chapter is from Allan's POV.**

**The story is set during S2, basically post ep 2.05, but after that it gets a bit AU. **

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Chapter 1:

Children's Play

"But I don't want to be Allan!!!"

They boy was the kind of read-headed lad who had freckles all over his skin, big brown stains on a rosy pale complexion. Now the spotted face was distorted in grumpy wrinkles, the mouth strained to a stubbornly arched line as if he'd bitten down on a very sour apple, and his little hands were clenched to two hard knots.

"Don't be silly Ginger," another one of the boys said. He was considerably bigger and had an air of undeniable leadership about him. "You're always Allan!"

"Not now I'm not! He's a tr… tree… treetor, my mama says an' that's no good!"

"It's called _traitor,_ stupid. And _someone_ has to play him, because Robin will find him and kill him, or he will kill the king. _And _steal all the money from the poor!"

"Why will he kill the king!?" the freckled boy exclaimed with all the indignation of a child who finds his hero fallen from grace. "An' I don't want to play him anyway, because I want to wear a tag! I don't want to be the traitor! And if I have to be Allan then I don't want to play anyway! And my brother Daniel will beat you when he hears about this because he is bigger than you even, and he says that you can't be mean to me, and he will hit you and you will regret that you are so stupid! And anyway Robin Hood would never say that someone has to be Allan when he doesn't want to be! I don't want to play with you anymore!" he snapped while forcefully stamping his foot to enhance every exclamation mark. Then he twirled around with the complete lack of grace so often displayed by children whose limbs outgrow their bodies, and ran off in a ludicrously gawky manner.

"Run home to mummy, traitor!" the big boy yelled after him, his face red with anger. "And real heroes don't need their brother to save them - that is _roguish behaviour_ that is! You're just like Allan-the-Traitor!"

_Roguish behaviour._

Well, Allan-a-Dale thought as he watched the kids get on with their game of outlaws and traitors, at least the brat knew how to scorn articulately... They had invited one of the younger children to play the role of the traitor and Allan lingered a moment, lounging in the shadows of a shabby house, while studying the play. Kid's games are simple things. There is no room for complex characterisations, if you are good then you are all good and if you are bad then you are nothing but bad. Thus Allan-the-Traitor was no better than the sheriff or Guy in this play. The new child got very thorough instructions, everything from his 'evil chuckle' to his 'cowardly escape' was carefully directed by the big kid who played Robin. At least little Allan seemed pleased with his role, beaming with pride over the grace he had been granted by the older children. Though with that said, Allan had a sneaking suspicion that he had started at the bottom of the ladder and was happy just to be included.

Allan gave out a self-pitying sigh, shifted position and felt a sudden wooziness overcome him by the movement. To be honest there had been a lot of ale lately and not much sleep, seeking comfort in the company for temporary beer-buddies that never lasted more than a drunken night. There was always something that went wrong in the small hours. Now and then it was a reckless comment that did the trick, a valiant attempt to aid a maiden in distress or something equally foolish. And then again at other times he was caught stealing his new chum's money or conducting some harmless trickery for copper coins. Not that he actually _needed_ the money, but old habits die hard they say and it was especially true for bad habits.

_Roguish behaviour._

Yep, that kid knew what he was talking about. Allan-a-Dale was all about roguish behaviours, trickery and scams. He was not, however, one to chuckle evilly, and he frowned when he saw the children's game evolve into some kind of Allan-slaughtering under the leader's encouraging yells. 'For England', he shouted, 'For the king!' and 'Kill the traitor!'. He sounded like Robin alright, Allan sniggered under his breath, except that there was a very prominent lack of wooing going on. There should be a Marian, there was always a Marian when there was a Robin.

It wouldn't help England much to kill him, Allan-a-Dale thought as he turned his back on little Allan's dead body and the gang's jolly victory dance. It wouldn't help or harm anyone if he lived or died. He was useless. He wasn't even a good traitor, and for some reason this only made him feel worse. It was as if he didn't really _mean_ anything, as soon as he was found out he was discarded as easily as any average john doe. The little things he did were merely bumps in the road, it hardly harmed Robin's precious cause at all, but he sure made Allan pay for it. It wasn't even as if he changed sides in the first place, in fact he had always remained on the same side. The Allan-side that is, and he could not remember ever promising anything to Robin. He'd worked for him, _chosen_ to work for him, because of gratitude and friendship. How did that suddenly make him into Robin's little lap dog? Did he get paid? No, he got served barbequed squirrels for dinner and was expected to give everything for Robin and his posh guerrilla war. A king was just a king, politics for nobles, and the poor was just people he met on the street. God knows they were better off than him with their baskets of food by the door and a real roof over their heads. The meek shall inherit the earth the good book said, but as far as Allan saw it meekness never did him any good. 'Realpolitik', that was the word. Robin was all about idealism but Allan knew that every man must be his own saviour in the end. It was easy for Robin, wasn't it? He could sit on his high horses, waiting for the king to restore all his glory – his future was never in jeopardy in spite of all his self-righteous games. In the end that silver spoon up his rear was still a silver spoon.

Allan staggered along the Nottingham alleys, rocking from side to side as a tree in a storm, and wondered if that nice little kitchen maid at Black Sheep Arms had saved any smoked lamb for him. 'Trip to Jerusalem' was not an ale house he felt particularly comfortable in these days, and he only went there when he felt he needed to remind himself of his own pathetic stupidity. The kids had taken care of that part pretty darn good today so instead he headed into the dusky, smoked atmosphere of The Black Sheep.

"Hey Jess," he greeted the maid with a cheeky grin. She was a timid girl, kind in an aloof disinterested way – much like someone who has heard it all and mastered the art of simply nodding in the right places. "You got any food for me, Littlelamb? Some ale perhaps?"

"For a man with a purse like that there is always a seat at The Sheep," she smiled and gave his pouch a knowing nod. Silver certainly opened doors, even dishonest stolen silver. Blood-money, treason in a purse, he thought as he sat down by a corner table. It was a habit he had acquired in his youth, making sure the room was displayed before his eyes instead of sneaking up on him from behind. _Always have your back against a wall lad - you never know what's lurking in the shadows so it is better that you do the lurking yourself._ Nobles may get their training from books and masters but a trickster simply sucked up what he heard and saw and sewed it up to a motley quilt. It may not be pretty but it kept you warm.

Jess Littlelamb came back with a plate of smoked meat that Allan choose to think of as lamb or maybe pork, even though it might as well be a stray cat unlucky enough to strut into the wrong yard.

"So, having bad day Allan-a-Dale?" Jess said. It was a wild guess that usually hit the spot – most people that visited The Sheep alone was having a bad day.

"Yeah, sort of," Allan mumbled with his mouth full of bread. "Still going on yesterday though, not being funny but dawn hasn't really dawned on me yet."

He had to give her credit for not so much as raising an eye brow at this comment, even though it was past noon. "Having a bad yesterday then?" she simply smiled in a detached but not unfriendly way.

"Nah, there were these kids, right?" he confided in her "An' they played, you know, outlaws. Sort of made me think... About stuff..."

"You miss your friends?" she said, poring up some ale in a mug and sat down opposite him. It was always a wise investment to spend some time listening to a wealthy customer, and she had a soft spot for Allan-a-Dale. He was at least polite and always paid his bills.

"Who would miss living in the forest?" he responded "Only a fool would miss that mind you. All leaves and barbequed squirrels, and Much… I'm not being funny but that freaking jester really winds me up you know? He calls Robin 'master', the sneaky little clown. He'll get a title and all for it… And us? The rest of us_ we_ don't get anything at all. I'm just saying - all work no pay makes Allan a very unhappy outlaw."

Jess was quick to pick up on things and Allan's story had been retold in so many drunken, bitter versions that she knew it by heart. Much wasn't one of his favourites and he harboured quite a bit of resentment against Robin Hood, so she gently steered away his mind from the pair of them. "What about the kids?" she said instead "You didn't like their game?"

"They made me into a villain!" he scoffed "Little brats… The kid who used to play Allan didn't want to anymore so he got sent away for displaying roguish behaviour." It wasn't exactly how it had happened but Allan's mind had done it best to interpret the children's game from his own viewpoint. He identified himself with the red-headed child who had fallen from grace for not obeying every whim of the gang's leader. The little fool that replaced him was nothing short of a mockery not only of Allan, but also of the freckled boy. "Kick out the trickster and replace him with a puppet," Allan mumbled bitterly.

"Poor boy," Jess said "Children can be so cruel."

"Not only children mind you," Allan smiled and offered some meat to the maid who gently shook her head.

"No thank you, I need to get back to work. Only…" She hindered herself with one leg swung over the bench to leave "I wonder if you should talk to these friends of yours Allan? In my experience, sometimes when the leader of the pack is absent the rest of the children are not so cruel."

Jess gave Allan a superficial but honest smile, one that she saved for the acquaintances she liked without holding dear, and refilled his mug before she went to attend to a newly arrived party. They looked like the kind of good hard-working men that always made Allan feel just a little bit uneasy and he crawled deeper into the corner, making himself virtually inaccessible. Sometimes people noticed him, knew his name and came to inquire about 'the business', referring to Robin's little charity whims, or if they had the heads up on recent events, to give 'the damned traitor' a good old black-eye. He had never been very good with good hard-working people, the kind that had a steady wholesome family and took pride in their profession, simply because he always remained a step below them. Sure, they might be starving and broke, and he might come with the money that saved their day but they still had that _look_. Thus when they said 'God be with you and thank the lord for Robin Hood!' what they actually expressed was still a suspicious 'Why don't you get yourself a real job?'.

They always gave credit to Robin. The glory was his and the rest of the gang was merely a bunch of merry men that went his errands like underpaid servants. It was typical that the biggest kid played Robin, the one that couldn't be contradicted and directed the game as if it was his personal fantasy and the other boys simply played extras filling in the minor roles. The alpha male had no respect for the underdog, and in that Robin was no different than Guy. At least he got paid now, Allan thought. Not that it mattered much, he would fool himself if he said he wouldn't change it in a second had he gotten the chance. He had believed in it. He had actually believed that he could be a better man, on the road to something new. But then it changed. There had been a moment when their battle was nearly over, the king was coming home, and he got this snapshot of a future that _wasn't _golden. Everyone rejoiced over the coming end but all he could think was_ 'What now'_? Back to picking pockets and poaching the king's game? It was the fear that dragged him down, the fear of being no one going no where, and he realised that this was just an interlude. The world was in limbo when nobles and rogues fought side by side in the forest, all rules temporarily disintegrated, but once the curtain fell the noble was still a noble and the rogue was still a rogue. It was all a sham.

It was all a sham, and when it turned out that so was the king then the feeling still wouldn't go away. It stayed by him, an itching, distressing doubt that made him question everything they did and see it through different eyes. Doubt and fear made him fall from the glorious pretence, and now he was that kid that always died at the end of the game.

He caught his reflection in the half-empty mug in his hand and felt a sudden queasiness. So it came to this; a bitter, lonely man spending his time and silver in bars where you could use ale to buy a life-long chum for a night. Pathetic. It was all so pathetic… Not much light in the end of the tunnel but his pouch was full of money. Djaq still believed in him, he thought, and his stomach made an all too familiar flutter that he attributed to nostalgia. Djaq didn't give up. Djaq looked at you with those big, trusting eyes that had travelled so far and seen so much misery, and they saw a man like any man. She saw someone who could be better if he tried. She forgave when Robin judged and condemned him, they all threw him out with the trash but she was the kid that waited until the game was over, then went over to the traitor that lay dead on the ground and reached out her hand. _Sometimes when the leader of the pack is absent the rest of the children are not so cruel_. That was how Jess Littlelamb had put it, and perhaps she was right.

Suddenly there was an overwhelming aching need in the weary mind of Allan-a-Dale. He needed to see Djaq.


	2. Chapter 2

**Here cometh chapter deux. It is Allan/Djaq, mainly from Djaq's POV. No fluff yet ;)**

**There will be R/M fluff in chapter 4 and A/D fluff in chapter 5. **

**Marian66: Do read on if you like, chapter 4 is R/M as I said, but consider youself warned. I won't ship Will with Djaq in this one, but there will be angst and jeaolosy later on from Will's side...**

**Reflect.clouds: Yay a fellow A/D shipper:D Ty for the nice comment! **

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Chapter 2:

On homes and friendship

We must not let ourselves be fooled. Even though there is nothing but four simple letters and a mental image of a roof and some walls, 'home' is not an easy word. For every new place where we build ourselves a nest the word changes, gets a new incarnation, splits and shatters and gets reassembled into something new yet as old as the word itself. It is still four simple letters but they have shadows, they float and skew and get distorted and it never looks the same from different angles.

If you had taken Djaq aside to ask her what 'home' was for her, she would have answered Sherwood Forest simply because she was a practical woman and knew where she had her blanket. She would say that her home was with her family, and the only family she knew these days was a gang of scruffy British outlaws. It would all be true. But when she spoke of the distant desert village where she had been born once upon a time, it was also true that she referred to that as 'home'. The word rolled easily on her tongue as if it was nothing more than a phonetic cluster of superficial noises. Only sometimes did her mind catch in the semantics, hooked by that stubborn flaw she had to let her mind get trapped in pointless brooding. It all came down to cleverness, when you didn't use it for anything substantial it sure found a way to avoid idle lounging.

Thus Djaq's mind had caught the ragged edges of the concept of a 'home', and she didn't like where it took her. If home was where her family was then she had left a large chunk of her home under the blood soaked sand dunes of Arabia. Worse still, if home was where her family was then a part of it had just been ripped apart, left drifting off into enemy territories where she couldn't reach it. Sherwood Forest might be the place where her blanket was but without Allan it was no longer quite the same. He left an aching hole because she had to re-evaluate everything. Now the camp felt empty, the conversation seemed to have blanks where his comments should be, and last night Little John had made everyone uneasy by grunting that he wasn't being funny.

It was in times like these that she sometimes wandered off from the camp, took her rug to a stream and tried to find the direction of Mecca. She could allow it - she could let herself be vulnerable when only the trees and the blue sky watched her through disinterested eyes. It was easier to think in solitude, easier to muse over memories and give in to nostalgia, easier to grieve over what was lost when no one could see her façade crack.

Djaq gently unfolded the little rug by a still pond, the water dark green with delicate pink water lilies and algae covering most of the surface like a suffocating blanket, and kneeled down facing south-east. The monotone mumbling of her prayers was soothing in an almost hypnotic manner, the words so familiar they lost their meaning and became a song that rose and sunk like a bird's wooing. She know that Will would sometimes follow her and listen in silence, as if her prayers put a spell on him, but even though he hid himself well she always knew when she wasn't alone. Now she finished her ritual in the seclusion of the serene glade and remained seated with her head turned to Mecca, feeling a fleeting sensation of being lost far away from her roots.

"Are you alright there Djaqie?"

Djaq twirled around as if she had been caught with her hand down the cookie jar, and did her best to arrange her features into a suitably aloof expression. Allan was better to sneak up on people than Will it seemed.

"Jackie!" she exclaimed "You must have spent to much time in shabby ale houses Allan-a-Dale if you start calling me Jackie. I'd watch my tongue if I were you." It only took one look at him to confirm her suspicions about the taverns, the almost ashen complexion and bloodshot eyes spoke volumes.

He gave her a cheeky grin "Nah it suits you," he said "Sound's like a proper lass' name."

"I'm not a proper lass." She scoffed. This was not a good time for him to be here, not when she felt this…. Naked… She had her heart on her sleeve and every nerve lay bare on the sensitive skin. "What are you doing here Allan?"

"Just visiting old friends if you don't mind. I miss the lush green leaves of Sherwood Forest. They're softer than my bed at the inn mind you."

"You made your choice."

Allan gave Djaq a wounded look, as if her harsh words hurt him, and she had to take a deep breath to not go soft on him. He is traitor, she reminded herself, he works for the enemy.

"Why Allan?" she said "Why did you do it? It is so important to be on the winning team? To win… To be rich and well off. Is that all that matters to you?"

"People like me never win mind you, we're pawns…" he said, his voice sour with bitter resentment. "And you can get stuck you know! You make a choice and then you can't get out. I can't get out of here Djaqie!!!"

Djaq watched the haunted, panicking look in Allan's eyes in stunned silence and it strung a chord in her so piercing that it almost threw her off her feet. The man behind the joking trickster stood exposed before her and pleaded for understanding, plagued by his own shadows pushing on the surface. Scared, she thought, he is afraid, the resentment in his tone, the panic, the naked despair… He is a cornered animal, a terrified little boy unable to face the consequences of his own actions. The sensation was so strong, she saw in his eyes the haunted look that she had seen in the men on the battlefield, even in her own brother when he cried and rocked himself to sleep, and she wanted so much to take him in her arms. It was too much, the compassion, the echo from the past rippling through her body… Not now, she couldn't take this today! All the people she had loved that had expected her to save them were gazing at her through Allan's pleading eyes. But she couldn't, _she couldn't save them all…_

"_Where am I… where am I!!!?"_

_Djaq's eyes were wet and red with fever and Saffiya put a soothing hand on his burning forehead. She hadn't expected him to stir, haunted by the nightmares and the gash in his side infected and red. He looked dying she realised in ice-cold terror, the burning hot skin, pale and damp with sweat in a vain attempt to cool off. _

"_Schhh, it's okay Djaq, I'm here" she said "You have a wound, the fever took you but I will make it better."_

"_Saffiya… The war… I'm… how…I feel so lost, how did I end up here?"_

"_We carried you, you got hurt. It is fine, I will help."_

"_You shouldn't even be here Saffy" He cried now, his feverish eyes confused and during this sudden moment of clarity they seemed only painted in naked sorrow. Sometimes people got better before they died, sometimes… But he mustn't die, he was The Son! _

"_Djaq listen, it will be fine. We carried you here, I will care for you. Father needs you, you are the son. You must be strong for us."_

_He shook his head, his eyes stuck in a nightmare still and unreachable for her concerns. Then he turned to her, suddenly wide awake and staring at the sister who sat so solemnly beside him "Promise me, you don't get lost Saffy" He said between the ragged breaths "You were always the strong one… It is you they need not me. _You_ must be the son."_

"Djaq… Djaqie!" Allan's voice forced Djaq out of the reminiscence and she saw that his look had changed. He seemed concerned now, focused on her rather than his own hopeless situation "Are you alright there, Djaqie?" he said in a bothered voice "I'm not being funny but you look like a ghost just trampled all over your grave."

"I'm fine," she said and tried to ignore the tremble in her voice. You need to believe in your own lies if you expect other people to believe them too. _You're a man now, you are Djaq, you help your father in his profession and when the time is right you carry on his legacy. You take care of your mother, you sew up the flesh wounds of the fallen soldiers, you carry a sword as a man, your hair short, your head high… _Saffiya had been no one but Djaq had to live on, that had been the bottom line. It had seemed so easy to bury the woman and bring out the man, Saffy had never been much of a pride to her parents anyway. Too bold and too forward. She had lost count of all the times her mother had sighed and exclaimed _'Allah be praised, you should have been born a boy'_. So why did all of this come out now? These people were all dead, and she had a new life, a new home. Why did everything seem so complicated when she stood here with this man, this traitor and trickster, and wanted nothing more than to comfort him?

"You're not fine Djaqie," Allan insisted and he reached out a hand to touch her. She shied away, she couldn't do this, shouldn't feel like this. He was the wrong person to comfort her, it was bad enough that she still missed him even though he had disappointed them all. Will was concerned for her, he had a special look from time to time, as if he tried to decrypt her, and she felt like a fraud and a traitor because of her own thoughts. _I can't get out of here Djaqie_. Who did Allan think he was? Didn't he see how stuck _she_ was, what mess he had gotten her into? And now he called her Djaqie and expected her to take his hand and lead him out into the light.

"Don't call me Djaqie!" she exclaimed "I'm _Djaq_ and you have no right to come here and expect me to save you! You made your choice, what am I to do about your mistakes?! I am not your mother Allan-a-Dale!"

Allan looked shocked and Djaq took a deep breath. It was not like her to snap like this, if anything it only made her feel _more_ vulnerable.

"Why have you come here Allan-a-Dale?" she sighed a bit calmer. "I want the truth."

Allan opened his mouth and closed it again like a fish struggling to breathe. He felt himself tremble a little, his heart screamed for him to make it better somehow, wipe that trace of pain from Djaq's features. He had come here to plead to her, because he knew that she might listen, and beg her to put in a good word for him. He had come here because he missed the outlaws and was terrified that they would forget about him now, like he was a dead man confined to the shadows.

"I came because I though maybe there is a way back," he said "You could talk to Robin for me…"

"No it doesn't work like that Allan! You can't leave it up to other people to clean up your mess! It is too late to be sorry."

Allan tried to swallow the lump in his throat, suddenly feeling weary and sick of it all. "They hate me…" he whispered.

"No they love you, that is the problem. Don't you see? Who would you rather have betray you? A stranger or your brother?"

"Is that true?" he raised his eyes to look at her, looking puzzled and a bit amazed through the heavy air of regret. "Do you love me Djaqie?"

Love… There was another four-letter word that you could think about for a lifetime without getting any wiser.

"You were my friend," she said "As easily as you change side, for me it is not so simple. Memories cannot simply be washed away with soap and a lavender bath. And even if they could I have found that British people bath very seldom…"

"Djaq…" he said, throwing out his arms in the universal Allan-gesture; the one that said '_Don't look at me, I didn't do it'_. He found that to be a good answer to most questions in life, and most definitely suitable to those scenarios where he actually had done it. "I'm sorry… I'm just… I'm stuck you know? I don't know what to do!"

"And why do you think I know what you should do Allan?"

"I don't know… I guess you're… resourceful. You got away with the whole Djaq-charade mind you. I just... You're always so kind and understanding. I just missed you."

The last part had escaped him without intending it. He did miss her, missed them all but he had never wanted to say that out loud. Djaq was like him in this aspect - they were not people who put their heart on a plate and offered to cut it open. The shock in her eyes showed that she hadn't expected him to say it either, and now there was a tension between them so thick you could cut it with a knife.

"I'm sorry Allan," she finally said "I can't fix this for you…"

"I know…" He hesitated for a while watching her. "You should probably get back to the camp," he said "I'm not being funny but the others will be waiting for you."

She nodded sadly - it felt so strange that they took different roads, headed in different directions. They used to be friends, they laughed together, fought side by side, shared meals and slept cuddled up into a nest of limbs and blankets kept warm by each other's body heat. "I will see you later, okay?" she said.

"Tonight?" Allan bit down hard on his lip. Damn how his tongue slipped today!

"What?"

"I… you know…" he stammered "Nah, I just thought you could come to town you know… Tonight. I'll be at 'The Black Sheep' anyway, wouldn't mind a little company..."

"Allan I can't…"

"Nah I know, I know, I just thought… You look like you need a laugh you know. But never mind. It was a stupid idea anyway. See you around though Djaqie. Give Much a hard time for me. And don't let Will get all dark and brooding."

Djaq twitched a little at the mention of Will. He had indeed been rather dark and brooding since Allan left. No all the time, but whenever he sat silent for a while there were shadows wandering over his face, a barely subdued rage over his best friend's betrayal. This was getting to him in a way that things could only get to a young person, someone who was filled with youthful passion and decaying innocence… She forced the thoughts of Will into a corner of her mind and served Allan a nod and a smile.

"Oh… I almost forgot. I brought this for you Djaq…"

Allan reached into his purse and pulled up a smaller pouch, presenting it to Djaq with a smile that looked almost coy.

"What is it?" she said puzzled as she felt the little container in her hand. It was light and seemed filled with something grainy… Sand perhaps?

"Open it…" he motioned to her "It is spices… They come back with the crusaders, cost me a bloody fortune. But you know. Money I got… I just thought you might like it. A little taste of Arabia an' all. Home."

"Oh Allan…" Djaq opened the pouch and dipped her nose into it. There are very few things that are closer linked to our memories than scents, a mere whiff can plunge us right back into moments long lost in the shadow's of time. She closed her eyes and breathed in, careful to not inhale the fine powder, and the world instantly shifted around her. It felt almost alien to open them again and see the lush British forest still closing around her. "Allan, I cannot possible keep this…"

"Nah take it, take it. I don't want it… Smells funny if you ask me. And it's not even paid with blood money mind you - good old trickery did the job."

"You're still picking pockets and conduct scams in taverns?" she laughed.

"I'm not being funny but it's what I do best after all. No place like a tavern."

"Shouldn't it be 'no place like home'?"

"Yeah that's what I said wasn't it? I practically live there now you know."

"I'm sure you do Allan…" There was a moment, just a moment, when they stood and watched each other in perfect silence, a million untold questions decorating the air between them. Then Djaq shrugged it off, stepping back from the strange intimacy of the glade and this man who she should despise but instead felt for. "I need to leave now" she said "Thank you for the spices..."

"Don't mention it mate. You better hurry Djaqie, I'm sure there's a barbecued squirrel waiting for you back home."

"I'm sure there is," she smiled "And don't call me Djaqie you fool." Then she took her rug and turned to walk back to the camp, feeling his eyes burning holes in her neck with silent desperation - screaming for her to take him with him, but without uttering a single word. It would be futile and he knew it, after all she could do nothing but leave. Back home, she thought. It is just a simple word.


	3. Chapter 3

**So this is a rather short little chapter. It is set in the outlaw's camp. The next chapter is Robin and Robin/Marian, and the one following that ships Alan and Djaq. **

**Bez: Thanx a lot for the notes you sent me. :) Don't worry, you didn't come across as rude at all. **

**Dean: I like Allan/Djaq, this is an Allan/Djaq story. Yes, people will get hurt but not in the way you think.**

**Thanx a lot for the reviews ppl. :)**

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Chapter 3:

Spices

Rummaging through other people's possessions was not actually something that Much enjoyed doing, especially since you never knew what you might find tucked in between the undergarments. But drastic times called for drastic measures, and to be frank 'rummaging' wasn't even a word he would have used about his current actions. He had simply been looking for his jumper, swearing under his breath and then out loud over the frustrating fact that there was no Allan to blame this time around. All in all that meant that his jumper had fallen prey to a _conspiracy_, they all carried some sort of irrational grudge to it and he really couldn't see why.

"Oh really, this is not fu… this is unfair!" he exclaimed.

The Sherwood sovereigns glanced up from where they sat idly shattered over the camp, concealing their smiles with considerable effort. It was a beautiful day, lazy and warm with the sun filtering down through the emerald green foliage. The kind of day you didn't take quite serious, refrained from thinking about sha-mats or the sheriff's lack of social welfare measures and just enjoyed the feeling of the sun beaming down on your face.

"Oh come, come Much, you can't get much warmth from that anyway. It's not suitable for forest living you know," Robin said as his former manservant turned another pile of clothes upside down.

"I happen to like it thank you very much," Much mumbled.

"It will catch in the twigs," Will interposed, always the practical man. "There are too many threads. The colour is wrong for the forest and it is full of holes. There are more holes than cloth!"

"That may be so but they are my holes and I want them back. If no one will tell me where they are… where it is… then I'll find it myself."

There was some sniggering from the other outlaws and Much tried not to take offence. He was used to it after all – having been an easy target all his life - and you really couldn't get upset every time someone played a joke on you. At least there was no malice in their smiles, they just didn't consider his feelings much, that was all. He bit down hard and made sure he made a real mess of their little trinkets when he went through them, throwing down Robin's white shirt in the leaves even though he would have to be the one washing it later.

There was a smell first, something alien yet vaguely familiar, and a mental image of a foreign marketplace flashed before Much's eyes. He frowned as he tried to place it… Camels… Sun… The rapid, wavering voice of an Arabic salesman… Then a feeling of his burning tongue swelling in is mouth… Taste buds gone numb… He swallowed sharply as his mouth felt dry by the reminiscence - there was a definite scent of the Holy Land in the camp and it was coming from the heap of clothes before him.

"What is this?" he said as his hand closed around a small pouch. "Is it yours Djaq? It smells like…" He wrinkled his nose and twitched away from the item in his hand; the scent was sharp and spicy in an entirely unpleasant way. "How you people can eat this I will never know!" he exclaimed and strolled down to the cold fireplace in the centre of the camp.

"Eat it?" Robin frowned "What is it you have found Much?"

"Well if I'm not entirely mistaken it is spices. From the Holy Land none the less! I'm sure you remember that meal we shared master, you insisted that we had to get a taste of the 'local flavour'? I couldn't taste anything for a week after that!"

"You couldn't taste anything for a week because you refused to add any flavouring at all to our meals Much! Everything was overcooked, tasteless and watery..."

"Very much in line with the finest British traditions then," Djaq said "Give me that, it is mine."

"Aha!" Much exclaimed "You have some sense of ownership then? Perhaps you don't mind telling me where my jumper is and I might consider giving you this pouch of Saracen poison..."

"Much," Robin sighed and everyone momentarily became aware of the grim expression in their leader's face. "Give it to her. And perhaps then Djaq wouldn't mind telling us exactly where she got these exotic spices from?"

"Excuse me?" Djaq said, a sudden fear rising in her chest. I'll be damned if you have me lie Allan-a-Dale, she thought and clenched her hand around the spices.

"Well spices are expensive Djaq!" Robin called out. "Where did you get the money to buy them?"

"She spent our money on this?!" Much burst out in an air of annoyed indignation. "I have to cook squirrels and rats for dinner and she buys spices that are virtually inedible?! What is next, Little John starts to ornate his beard with pearls? Master really, this is just unfair…"

"Yes Much, it is… And that is why I'm asking Djaq where she got them. There might be a perfectly reasonable explanation and then this argument is quite uncalled for." There was an edge in Robin's voice, a sharpness that gave away the accusation behind his words in spite of his efforts to hide it. He seemed to be angry a lot these days, not much of a merry man at all.

"It _is_ uncalled for!" Djaq said "I was… It was given to me."

"Who from?"

Everyone turned to Will Scarlet who had been listening tensely to the argument. This was the first words he had spoken on the subject and his eyes were set on Djaq as if he tried to suck the truth out from her.

"What do you mean?" she said "It is no business of yours."

"Well I think we all want to know what it is you are unwilling to share with us. Do you have a Nottingham sweetheart who buys you little trinkets perhaps?" Will scoffed. He was easily agitated since his father's murder and Allan's betrayal, feeling the effects of a bitter life that slowly disintegrated whatever innocence remained. It could surely be attributed to stress and sorrow, but in truth Will had always been an angry young man, fizzling under the calm surface. The recent events merely made the façade falter, every now and then letting out the feelings he fought to subdue. Djaq was a subject close to heart and he didn't handle those very well at the moment.

"Accusations get us nowhere Will," Robin sighed. "There have been enough lies and half-truths… Djaq, I will tell you this once, to you and to the rest of the gang, that you better not speak at all than to speak a lie."

Djaq swallowed hard. This was quite a conundrum she was standing in front of and her mind worked itself dizzy wondering what would do the least harm in the long run. She could give them a white lie, something harmless that silenced them, maybe even say that she took the money and bought the spices herself. But then again lies were never harmless, eventually they were found out and then they always made a far bigger gash than the original truth… That left her with the option to conceal the gift-giver, and they would despise her for keeping things from them in a time like this, or admit that she had seen Allan. It only took her one look at the gang to discard the last option. The Allan-story was the reason to their edginess in the first place and she couldn't bring it up, not now.

"Then I will not tell you," she said in a hushed voice, her neck bent down in shame.

"Very well," Robin responded "That is your call. We must respect it. I gather it is not a person that will do us any harm? This 'gift-giver' of yours…"

She hesitated a while. Well, that was all a matter of angle, she though to herself, and thus not a lie as much as an opinion. "No," she said "He would not do us any harm."

"Good…" Robin nodded, but in truth that wasn't a word that felt suitable for the situation. Will's eyes were dark with jealousy and Robin had a troubled look of distrust in his features still. Much kept rummaging through the rest of the possessions, every now and then calling out a random accusation as to the whereabouts to his precious jumper, but he was only met with the occasional 'shut up' from the gang. Djaq felt her heart beat like a drum in her chest, her body was uncomfortable and itching and there was a slight queasiness as she avoided the stares that burned her skin.

As the day dragged on the outlaws got occupied with chores and shattered, one and one or in small groups taking off to care for their own thoughts. Much stayed in the camp, tidying up after himself with a feeling of setting a trap just to stumble into it on his way back, and Will and Little John took off to Locksley.

As for Djaq and Robin, they could have given each other company had they only known they were heading in the same direction. But as it was they walked their separate roads oblivious of each other. The outlaws' leader and the Saracen woman both searched their solace within they grey walls of Nottingham Town.


	4. Chapter 4

Right guys, I don't want to sound harsh but this is the deal: This story is Allan/Djaq and Robin/Marian, with a little onesided Will/Djaq. It says so before chapter one because I don't want to disappoint or upset anyone, and I know how important ships are in fanfiction. It won't end Will/Djaq. If you can't live with Allan/Djaq then it is better not to read it. Okay?

With that said, thanks a lot for the fab comments ppl. This chapter is Robin and Robin/Marian. This story is more angsty than fluffy, but this chapter and the next (shipping Allan/Djaq) got at least some fluff-value. ;)

Enjoy

xxx Trix xxx

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Chapter 4:

Shimmer

Shimmer. The war in the Holy Land had been all about shimmer. It had sparkled like a diamond in the horizon, calling young men to their own demise like a Siren from the ancient Greek sagas. And Robin chased after it, followed the sparkling breadcrumb trail with as much passion as the next man. But instead of a giant loaf of golden bread at the journey's end the trap had fallen down over them all. Illusions - that is what dreams were made of. So much in this life were mere hallucinations, called forward by your own will to believe in them. Now it seemed he had been blinded by the shimmer once again.

He had believed in the gang, believed in the cause. He had made it shimmer and trusted that they all shared his illusions. Because he knew, he had always known, that if dreams were made of illusions then you could will them solid. But it took hard work. It took passion and willpower, not only the feeble ideals of one single man. You had to be at least five, or four, or two if you really stretched it… The mere idea of any of these men betraying him had been incomprehensible. It went against everything he believed in, made him doubt humanity and feel lost and disillusioned once again. Sherwood Forest had turned into a blazing dead desert before his eyes.

The simple truth was that Robin Hood _needed _shimmer. He needed illusions and ideals and principles. And Allan had done it best to wash it away, his betrayal left Robin's cause with ugly, gaping holes. The dream was leaking into putrid water and it terrified the most sovereign of the Sherwood sovereigns to feel it all slip away from him. He was the kind of man that put all his bets on one horse, and now the poor old mare was wobbling.

Robin had made his way into Nottingham, drawn there as by a magnet that never ceased to affect him. The castle cast its grim shadow over the town and made everything seem gloomy, yet he watched the walls with a feeling of irrational joy. He knew it carried a treasure, if you only made your way past the guards and the stones and the thick nearly impenetrable defences there was something in there that still shimmered. His heart beat faster as he recognised her window; it was open wide to let in the warm breeze of freedom and an emerald green curtain danced carefree in the wind like colourful butterfly. That was Marian for you, no prison ever kept her animated spirit fully in chains.

He sighed a little and forced his eyes away from the captivating sight of her unlocked window. Marian's comforting arms would have to wait for nightfall, when his figure could be cloaked by darkness, and he had something that needed to be attended to in town first anyway. If that had not been the case then he would probably have been happy just sitting there as a love-struck puppy, while his mind trailed away to far off places where his dreams were not merely dreams. Still, nothing sedated a restless soul as the complete lack of rest, so he set off into town with determined steps.

People only ever recognised Robin if he wished them too. He was a master of disguise and this town had its fair share of people hiding under cloaks and lurking in the shadows. It hadn't taken him long to realise that the best way to hide from people was to make them try to hide from you, thus he played one of his favourite acts. He was a beggar in rags, a drunk out for trouble, slightly wobbly in his movements as he rambled his way ahead. 'Naught, naught fo' the poor ol' beggar, mam good sur, GOD DAMN YOU ALL, they watching you'll see, under the streets and in em' walls, em' all is watching n' you, good mam a coin fo' a poor ol' beggar…" No one ever gave him any coins and the fact that they took detours around him served his purposes well enough. All you needed was too keep out of the guards' way, but that was easy once you learned to keep to the narrowest streets with the duskiest corners.

This trip into town was all bout spices. Djaq had refused to tell him the full story and he could not simply let that go. Not now when everything had been jeopardised by Allan's treason, not now when the shimmer was fading. It pained him to admit that he did not trust his own men but that was the reality of it. All bets on one horse and that damned creature was wobbling…

There could not be many men in this town that sold something as exotic as Saracen spices. Robin's best bet was on Gareth Barber, a rather stout man with an impressive brown moustache that compensated for the complete lack of hair on his scalp. Mr Barber was an oddity in the Nottingham trader's guild. Instead of simply stocking the items that people actually bought, he'd somehow managed to make a name of himself by selling things that the average citizen wouldn't touch even if you paid him for it. It was a mystery how he kept himself afloat, but rumour had it he was supplying Vaysey with rare luxuries whenever the short little sheriff felt the need to impress, or rather shock, some unsuspecting guest. Thus Gareth Barber kept making trips to the costal cities or London and came back with new things that he talked about with all the enthusiasm of a true connoisseur. He was passionate about every single item he stocked and would talk about it as if it was a once in a lifetime treasure too good to miss. Robin still felt slightly queasy as he remembered a bottle of Chinese firewater that Mr Barber had managed to dazzle the young noble into buying once (it was in fact rice wine, but it would have been no point in calling it that since people didn't know what rice was in the first place). All in all, the man was the only one insane enough to try to sell exotic spices to simple British peasants that hardly even could afford their daily bread.

As he came up to Gareth Barber's lodgings Robin looked around carefully before he dropped the act, or rather changed it, straightening his back and putting on a pronounced French accent. The store took up the front part of Barber's house, facing the street, while the backroom was the small family's living quarters and opened up into a tiny garden. There weren't much useful things growing the Barber's yard, since Gareth dug up the solid British turnips his wife planted and gave room to odd seeds that never managed to grow into anything. Mrs Barber had thus long since given up her dream about a prosperous kitchen garden and kept chickens in it instead. No one knew quite as many recipes with egg as Mrs Barber.

Gareth Barber turned to the customer and his big red face lit up in a beaming smile, just a little bit too jolly to make people feel comfortable.

"Bonjour," Robin greeted him and winced at the sound of the crude French accent. "I'm looking for une… une… what is the word? Ah, une _spice_, oui? Trés exotique."

"Oh hello Sir Robin," Gareth Barber said. "That is quite the accent you got there… Very impressive indeed, but you better drop it. Simple man like me, don't know a word of that foreign stuff. It is all Greek to me." He winked at Robin who tried not to give out an embarrassed whimper. Of course this man recognised him, he was a bloody salesman! They were nothing if not people persons, and once they had managed to fool you into buying something they were not likely to simply forget your face. "Now what can I do for you young man, spices you say, ay?"

Gareth Barber started to rummage through some bags close to the door and Robin decided it was best to stop him before he felt forced to actually buy something.

"You need not bother with that… I'm more interested in a certain person who might have been here to buy spices from you? Holy Land spices."

"Ay," Gareth sighed "Em' Holy Land spices were a hard nut to crack even for me… No one wanted to buy them." He looked sad, as if the world had disappointed him by throwing one of his babies out the window. This was a man who took his wares seriously, made an almost personal attachment to them, and it bothered him when people didn't see them as he did. Then his face lit up again as he remembered something. "Until that lad, ye know Sir Guy's underpuppy, he came in like some man on a mission and he _asked_ for them… Couldn't believe mine own ears… Well to be frank, he asked if I had something that would be homey in the Holy Land, and me, I thought to myself 'Gareth you lucky ol' sod, here you got yourself a golden opportunity'… And the lad he bought the lot, I tell you, that was a good day for this humble salesman... We had ourselves a real nice juicy piece of meat, me and my misses, that day, lit the fine new candles and all… Have you seen them lad? Straight from the coldest Siberia, good enough for church they are… Smoothest wax, and white as a baby's bottom…"

"I'm afraid my current situation leaves little room for luxuries," Robin interrupted him, willing his voice to be soft and friendly. It took considerable force, since his chest was burning with a scream that wanted to come out. _Allan_ bought the spices, Sir Guy's man, the _traitor_! Djaq had spent time with Allan! This was bad news, horrible, terrifying news. The horse was not only wobbling now, it had dropped a leg. He forced his breathing to remain steady and gave Gareth Barber a smile that he hoped looked grateful. "Thank you," he said. "If you ever need help... Well, just ask for Robin Hood."

"Sure, sure," Gareth smiled. "Where do you live these days Sir?"

"I think you will find I don't have an address… But when people need me, I make sure that I find out about it."

Robin rushed out into the street and disappeared into a narrow alley, pacing back and forth while burying his face in his hands. _Damn it_! He didn't need this! Not another blow to his precious shimmer, not another one of his men to fall. They all had weaknesses, every one of them, even _he_ had a weakness. No one was beyond soft spots, and if the world pushed hard enough they could all crack! How could he trust his men now!? And how could he lead an army if he kept turning to watch his own back? It took so little for this frail resistance to succumb to the weight of reality.

He stopped and breathed heavily, looking up to the darkening sky. So came dusk, and darkness, and for a wretched outlaw it encircled the town in a friendly embrace. Even he had a weakness, and he could still see the emerald green cloth dancing in her open window. It soothed him slightly to know that she was there, so he leaped up to a rooftop and crouched down as the night fell around him, waiting while he got lost on memories of the past and of a past that never were.

It was nearly pitch black when he saw her. She was merely a figure moving in the window first, a vaguely human-shaped shadow pushing the green curtain into the room and leaping up onto the window sill. He could see the moon catching her pale round face as she looked around her, one leg dangling dangerously over the edge. She didn't cover her face with a mask, if she was caught like this it was wiser to be caught as Lady Marian, unruly fallen noble woman, than a chased outlaw. Robin felt himself tense as Marian pulled the window shatter closed behind her and made her way down to a straw-covered rooftop. Well, she certainly made it easier for him to get to her, he thought, and ignored the worried tremble in his body. With a cautious leap he moved over to the next house and started to make his way towards Marian.

-----

"So," came a silky soft voice from behind Marian's back, and she bit down on her lower lip when she recognised Robin's most seductive tone._Please don't say 'what is a girl like you doing in a place like this?'_ she silently begged. "What is a girl like you doing in a place like this?" the voice continued. _Robin you are such a cliché! _

Marian felt two warm hands on her shoulders, brushing her hair away to plant a soft kiss on her neck, and it occurred to her that Robin could get away with a cliché or two if he greeted her like this. She forced the tremble out of her voice and turned around.

"I'm merely out on a midnight stroll," she smiled, letting his arms make their way down her sides until they rested on the curve of her lower back, pulling her closer.

"Really," he coaxed and she could see a smile tugging on his lips. She felt Robin's heartbeat fasten slightly when she moved her palms to rest on his chest, and bent down her head to hide the sheepish grin on her face. It was difficult to think when you were this close to Robin, all words became hoarse and thick and your mind dulled off into a woolly softness. 'Really' wasn't much of an answer so she guessed, or rather hoped, that he felt something similar. She could not be the only person in history to make such and fool of herself, yet it seemed incomprehensible that people all around went through Love and still managed to make the society function. She could barley control herself, the real reason to her nightly stroll was fast forgotten or at least diminished into a blurry whisper at the back of her head. It was not all that important anyway, simply some redistribution of the castle's leftovers.

They stood like that for a while, savouring the closeness, until something pushed through to Marian, an almost inaudible signal radiating from Robin's way of holding her. It was not as much an embrace as a desperate clinging, his face buried into her hair like he was hiding from the world deep within the brown curls. She pulled away a bit, stepping back to watch him. Once there were a certain distance her mind became clearer again, and she detected the troubled look in his eyes.

"Robin?" she said. "What is the matter?" He smiled and shook his head, taking a step towards her, his arms stretched out in an enticingly inviting gesture, a cheeky grin on his lips that almost hid the worry in his eyes. But only almost, and Marian was not ready to settle for a shallow smile. "No," she insisted. "Don't lie to me Robin. Silence kills relationships."

"Or saves them," he exclaimed and threw out his hands in a jokingly resigned gesture. She folded her arms and gave him a grim stare until he sighed and resigned to her stronger will. "Fine," he said. "But I would rather not bore you with it…"

"It could never be boring," she reassured him. "I'm used to embroidery remember?"

"I think this may be rather trickier than embroidery," he smiled.

"I'm sure you would know," Marian teased him before she continued in a severer tone: "It's about the gang isn't it? About Allan?"

He nodded to her. "Actually it is more about Djaq… No, it's about all of it. All of them."

"They trouble you?"

"Everything troubles me it seems," Robin laughed and sat down on a wooden bench. "Marian, I wanted… When Much and I came home from the Holy Land we expected things to be behind us… It was vain I know, but you have no idea Marian, no idea how… how tired war can make a man. I was not up for adventure, not ready for another battle. A soft bed," he sighed "Good old England. Nice nourishing meals. You…"

Marian smiled and sat down beside him, taking his hand in hers while gently stroking the rough skin. He had a bower's hands, callous with hardened scar tissue where the bow string went, yet they touched her so tenderly.

"You have me," she said, and felt his hand squeezing her fingers in response. He was silent for a while, staring into the darkness.

"Yes, I have you," he finally said and she noted the tremble in his voice.

"And you have your gang," she continued, but this time his response surprised her. Instead of giving her another smile the frown in his face deepened, a shadow walking over his features as his body twitched and grew tense.

"My gang," he said. "My gang… Allan betrayed me. I trusted him with my life yet he stabbed me in the back! And now Djaq…"

"What about Djaq," Marian said. She liked the Saracen girl, secretly admired her strength and determination - she seemed to grind every obstacle in her way into fine sand.

"She met Allan," Robin spat at the world in general. "He gave her spices… One is bought by petty cash, the other one by spices." He gave out a short, bitter chuckle.

Marian frowned. "Is that all?" she said.

"What do you mean is that all?!"

"Well, he bought her a present… Is that all?"

Robin stared at the woman by his side "And she took them!" he said "She accepted them! She could have refused!"

"Oh Robin…" Marian sighed. "You have been betrayed once, and it is understandable that you are cautious. But this was merely a gift exchanged between old friends! It says nothing about Djaq's loyalties." The memory of a very fine, brown horse came before Marian's eyes, one that she had been given by Sir Guy of Gisbourne, and she realised with a glance at Robin that his mind might be straying in the same direction. "Anyway," she hurriedly continued, "These spices probably means more than their monetary value to Djaq. The girl is miles and miles from roots, she is bound to get nostalgic. Did you not miss a good old English breakfast while you were in the Holy Land?"

"Well," Robin said with a cheeky grin. "I missed _you_ serving me a good old English breakfast… on the bed preferably…"

"That has never happened."

"Well, the bigger reason to miss it then!" He leaned over to give Marian a kiss, but she turned away her head.

"Robin," she chastised him "You are changing the subject!"

He sighed and pulled his hand from her gentle grip, instantly feeling the chilly night envelop it. Why did she do this? Why was she so hard and forceful? There were parts of Robin's soul, dark horrible places deep within, that he wouldn't like her to see. There was nothing in this world that he feared more than to have her opening those locked doors and be unable to face what she found there. It would send her away if she knew, scare her and make her despise him. His weakness and vulnerability, how pathetic and feeble he had been at times while evil led him by the hand, those dark, dark thoughts that could plunge entire armies into hell. It was all in his head, locked up behind the cheeky grin and smug demeanour, and he would prefer it if it stayed like that. Yet she did her best to pull it out of him, was so determined and wilful that he felt his resistance crumbling between those soft hands and big caring eyes.

"Yes!" he exclaimed as loudly as he dared without waking the entire street. "Yes I'm changing the subject! Because I need it! Don't you understand I need to think about something else?! Anything! Preferably you, to be honest…"

Marian frowned and looked at him with those steady eyes that wouldn't yield. _Damn it_! He had not meant it to happen like this! She saw right trough his harsh words and instead of building up his wall this outburst merely made him _more_ vulnerable.

"This really hurt you," she stated.

"I trusted him…" Robin said, wondering absently where these tears came from and how she had managed to draw them out of him. "I trusted him, loved him as a brother. Yet he betrayed me so easily… Coins, Marian, it was just coins!"

"It is never just coins," Marian said and grabbed his hand again. "Money means something to people. Security, power, a future…"

"You seem to have given this subject considerable thought," Robin sneered before he could stop himself. "I wonder why?"

"I have a lot of time on my hand between your random visits," Marian said and felt herself tense as the old defence mechanisms set in. "Do you really want to argue about this?!"

Robin swallowed the response that rested on his tongue, something about staying in the castle being her choice, and allowed himself to muse over that last question.

"Yes," he sighed. "I'm picking a fight with you, I'm sorry."

"What?" Marian gave her lover a puzzled look.

"It is so much, it is easier to yell," he said, his voice soft and silky again. She smiled at him, felt that seductive tone making its way through her body and heating it up. "I'm sorry, I do not wish to take it out on you…"

He leaned over and Marian gave in to the kiss this time, put a hand on his jaw and stroked the rough stubble before moving it back to his neck to pull him closer. She entwined her fingers in the soft neck-curls, and felt rather than heard his low moan muffled by her lips.

"You make me feel naked…" he mumbled as they broke the kiss and sat resting their foreheads to each other.

Marian laughed. "What?" she said and pulled away a bit from Robin.

"Well, not like that!" he said. "Marian, you can be rather nasty when your mind strays… Not that I mind."

"I wouldn't mind it either," she smiled and Robin felt his breath catch in his throat. What exactly was she saying?

"Marian," he said with his voice thick and trembling. "What are you saying?" He crossed his legs and tried to sit casually on the suddenly very hard bench, but she was far too close for him to be comfortable. His body felt filled with electricity, sparkling and animated by an inner fire. He tried to ignore it, tried to get some sort of coherent thought out from the buzzing chaos in his head, but her knee bumped into his and he still held his hand on her back, feeling the body heat radiating through the fabric.

"I thought a man could smell a woman's… kindness… miles away."

Marian bit her lip and winced inwardly at her choice of words. _Kindness_?! Well, don't you sound worldly and mature? She had a feeling that the joke had been overplayed, that the gentle bickering and flirting had passed some border that it shouldn't have come close to in the first place. This was an invitation, plain and simple, and as she watched Robin's questioning look and the barley subdued hunger in his movements she knew that all he had to do was make a move. She would not resist, not now when he had opened a window into his soul and she had seen the terror he carried with him. Not when he had laid himself bare to her, went to find her because she was his solace, the salvation for his troubled mind. She wanted to be with him and sooth his pain, and that feeling was so strong it almost made her gasp for air.

Slowly Robin moved himself closer to her again, tried a kiss and then one more, deepening it as he pushed her limits while remaining careful to stop himself at the first resistance, however feeble. But there was none, and they made their way to a green area close to the wall where some sheep were their only company. Dark, fluffy shapes moved as bleating shadows around the couple as they gave in to the touches, muffling the moans and whimpers with each other's lips and skin and speaking silky sweet nothing's between the panting breaths. As Robin pealed off the dark layers of clothes from his beloved's body he thought about the sheer beauty before him, for a moment stunned and amazed that she was _his_. The pale bluish moonlight caught her skin and the warm eyes and there was only one word for it that made her any justice. She shimmered.

And as fate would have it, it never occurred to them there and then that their actions may have consequences none of them was quite ready to face.


	5. Chapter 5

So, new chapter. This one ships Allan and Djaq. It's a rather light and fun chapter, especially compared to all the angst coming in later chapters...

Anyway, thanks for the comments ppl:)

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Chapter 5:

The Black Sheep

Djaq hadn't planned to go there. It was simply that her mind had strayed while her feet kept moving, and she had been honestly surprised when she looked up and found herself halfway through Nottingham's North Gate. She had gone over the last weeks over and over again in her head. Allan being cast out of the gang. Allan seeking her out in the forest. Allan giving her the spices. Much finding the spices. The spices… Oh those spices!

Djaq reached down into her purse and clutched her hand around the little pouch. It was only spices! A handful dried flavouring that somehow had made their way across nations and ended up in her palm. It seemed ridiculously small, yet it gave her a feeling of vertigo to sense the sheer distance staring at her. Her hands looked almost pallid this far away from the blazing sun of her homeland, as if her skin had been watered down to a pale shadow, and it contrasted sharply to the flaming colours of the spices. What did they mean? It was memories, little pieces of the past arranged through panes of glass. Yet it meant more, it meant that Allan had taken the time and effort to find them, paid good money for them, carried them into the forest just to give them to her. It was a peace offering and a declaration of friendship, maybe even love (though that was a word that scared her frozen). In this desperate time he had thought about her, such a small gesture of tenderness like a delicate beetle struggling on in a storm. It was unlike him. And it made her heart weep.

Allan-a-Dale… That man was lost. She was a person far away from her roots but he had no roots, or none to take any pride in at the very least. He put on a cheeky smile and told the world a story, always the perfect liar, and as every perfect liar ultimately alone. She wanted to slap him hard for wasting his life or take him into her arms for not knowing what it was that he wasted.

Djaq realised that she had stopped, a hooded figure in the middle of the street unsure where to go now that her mind had caught up with her feet. The thought of Allan's gift made her blush violently, a shameful but still rather pleasant tingling heat that rose through her body. These were not thoughts she should be having, and this treacherous heart should definitely not fasten its pace in hope when that man by the fish merchants looked so much like Allan. She tried to ignore the pang of disappointment when he turned around and looked nothing like him at all. So this was it was it? Her feet and her heart hand a mind of their own and they were set on finding Allan, wasn't it bittersweet to be drawn to man when he had been cast out into the cold? And drawn she was, even though she dared not touch the reasons. She was venturing into very deep waters but her feet had started moving again and her mind was already drawing a mental map over the city. Black Sheep Arms was it? It couldn't hurt to take a look, stop by and say hello. She would not be surprised to find him a regular but perhaps he would not be there after all. And that would be a good thing, she reassured herself in spite of her disloyal heart's objections.

-------

Black Sheep Arms was called so due to the physical appearance of the house and the name of its current owner. Jess Littlelamb had been widowed so soon after her marriage that it was speculated around Nottingham in that time and day that she might be a maiden still. It had been passed from mouth to mouth that she was pure as a little lamb, and thus her name was born out of gossiping breaths and she kept it because she liked the sound of it. What little money her husband had left her she invested, unwisely people said back then, in a building that had been damaged in a fire the spring before. The house was scorched black, but it still had walls and half a roof witch was enough to pass for a Nottingham building. Hence, according to the lingering mythology, Jess took help of her brother and a deaf and dumb niece, put up a sign over the door and named the place The Black Sheep Arms. People came because she was an oddity, in the way that people always seek out whatever catches the collective curiosity, and stayed because the ale was rather cheap and the food didn't kill anyone.

Jess Littlelamb was proud of her tavern. It was shabby enough for men like Allan-a-Dale to enjoy it but she kept her linen clean and her neckline high and was known to be a respectable woman. Now she stood in the middle of the dusky room and glanced at the few customers. It was mainly the standard tavern-people this time of the day, before the evening-business caught on, but she didn't mind the bitter boozers as long as they paid their bills. Apart from Lot Twittle, who probably spent enough time at The Black Sheep to be accounted for as part of the furnishing, there were a couple of workers taking a well deserved ale-break and a rather odd party of two in the room.

Those two… Jess had come to know Allan-a-Dale over the last weeks and he had always struck her as a troubled man. He always came alone, and even though he made friends fast (and lost them faster, she admitted) he always seemed alone with them as well. Surrounded by people, always laughing loudest, smiling broadest, talking fastest, and yet every emotion seemed dampened or dulled by some unnameable grief. Ale houses had lots of people just like him - they had a way of getting bitter around the small hours and spill both sorrows and ale all over the table. Thus she knew him well, and better than he thought probably. Yet the man who sat in the little party of two was not the Allan she knew.

He smiled, that was the first difference. Not the kind of cheeky trickster's grin that she had seen on him so many times and knew to be false and rough around the edges. No, this was joy, pure and simple. As soon as his eyes fell on this little… woman… before him as she entered the room he had beamed up, flared and radiated with such honest happiness as she had never seen in him. She had wondered if he knew it himself, but he bit down and tried to conceal it even though his eyes remained dazed with awe and amazement. Brilliant liar as he was he could not hide the fact that he was glad to find himself in this particular company.

The woman was sitting opposite to him in the usual corner table, stiff and edgy on the hard wooden bench. She seemed a bit coy and embarrassed, looked around her if she feared someone would find her here, but relaxed more and more as he teased her and made her laugh. Her hair was short and black, the skin and eyes dark, and she seemed a bit ambivalent weather to flaunt her femininity or hide it. Foreigner, no doubt, but it was generally bad to pass judgement over customers so Jess had learned to be broad-minded about such matters. It was a touching scene all things apart, and Jess wondered briefly if they knew yet what she could see as clearly as daylight. It was obvious to the professional barmaid that these two people were falling hopelessly and inevitably in love with each other.

----

"Why did you come Djaqie?"

The question seemed to hang heavy between the couple seated in the duskiest corner of The Black Sheep, words surrounded by a silence thick and sticky like honey. They had kept the conversation light even since Djaq stepped into the room and felt the last of her hesitation be washed away by Allan's blissful smile. He was so happy to see her, how could she break his heart? It was a reason and that was all she needed, a dignified excuse to give in to her own shameful will. They had ordered in enough ale to have something to blame the heat in their bellies on and felt giddy and warm as the conversation went on into the evening dusk. Then he had dropped this question, seemingly innocent in the middle of a cheeky laughter, with a slightly dazed smile still lingering on his lips.

"You would like to know that wouldn't you?" Djaq gave him a cocky smirk, hoping that teasing would dampen the sudden tension between them.

"I'm not being funny… I'm not. I'm serious alright? I need to know." He said and put on a grim look, not unfriendly but intensely focused. "I really need to know Djaq. Stuff hasn't… Well it hasn't been all roses lately if you catch my grip."

"Roses have thorns," she smiled sadly.

"Not as many thorns as bleedin' thistles mind you," Allan mumbled. "Djaq I'm serious alright. Why did you come? They will be mad at you..."

"Maybe I just happened to walk into this tavern and was surprised to find you here."

There was a moment's silence and then Allan gave up. She was here, he didn't need her reason, it was enough that she was here with him. He watched the Saracen woman at the other side of the table, the shadow's dancing in her face as the cheep candle flickered between them and painted stars in her irises. She had looked much like a boy when she first came to them, her beauty mainly present though the big, expressive eyes that couldn't be disguised. Now her hair was longer and it suited her, the ragged black curls gave her features softness and framed the golden brown face. It was still the eyes that caught your attention though; sensitive, teasing, feeling eyes that looked almost black in the faint light. "I'm glad you did," he said and was ashamed to realise that he was blushing all the colours of a rose-garden. Lucky him that it was dark and warm in here, or he would never hear the end of it... "Since you're paying for the next round and all." He added in a lighter tone.

"Oh I am, am I?"

"Not being funny, I'm not made on money you know," he exclaimed with a smirk. "And supporting the local economy is more effective than charity, I'm not being funny you should promote it… spending…"

"For a man who is never funny you crack a lot of jokes," Djaq teased. "Nice try Allan. You pay."

"Fine," he threw up his hands in a resigned gesture. "I pay."

Allan must have been drunker than he thought, because he forgot in the dizzy moment that the words _'I pay'_ should never be uttered lightly in a place like the Black Sheep. Hardly had the words escaped his mouth before a heavy and rather unsteady arm fell down over his shoulders and a man that looked vaguely familiar tumbled down on the bench beside him.

"Allan!" the man exclaimed and gave Allan's shoulders a friendly shake. Djaq bent down her neck and put up a hand to conceal the smile that tugged her lips at Allan's confused and slightly annoyed expression. "Allan-a-Dale what ye know I don't believe mine bloody luck," he continued in a slurry unfocused voice. "And who is this young lad whom I see…?" He squinted at Djaq who couldn't help to give her quite obviously female chest a quick glance. She cocked her eye brow and looked over at Allan who shrugged helplessly.

"Djaq," she said.

"Jack? Well what do ye know, me I'm Lot Twa…tw… twittle…" He fell silent and stared into the candle while intensely in thought, trying to get his name straight. "Twittle. Yeah, that's it."

Allan shut his eyes and sighed as he realised who their company was, a local drunk who had a dog's nose when it came to sniffing his way to the free ale.

"Listen mate," he said. "My chum and I got stuff to talk about, so if you don't mind..."

Lot blinked at him. "I've never been one for silence myself, it's for them monks." It was always a tad difficult to know if Lot only played stupid or actually didn't get the hints you gave him.

"Let him stay Allan!" Djaq suddenly exclaimed with a wide grin. "He is your friend I do not mind."

If looks could kill then Djaq would certainly have at least lost a limb by the glare Allan gave her. Lot still had his arm resting heavy on Allan's shoulder and he reeked of alcohol and a number of unnameable body odours. "Right then, I might as well buy you a pint," Allan sighed and shied away from the warm breath that suddenly came a lot closer. Lot leaned in to give his beer-buddy a wet kiss on the cheek, the rough stubble and oddly cold-sweaty skin pressed against Allan and he wrinkled his face in disgust.

"This," Lot said and gave Djaq an intense stare as he took a firm grip around Allan's shoulders "This… this is a good mate. A good man. Allan… Allan!" He made a gesture with his hand as to show off Allan, shaking his head in something that looked like disbelief. "Men like this they do not do in those foreign places," he slurred. "This is... A good English male this is. You're his cousin or something? Never mind, you learn from him lad and you'll go far I'll tell you. Stick with this one, he's a keeper! Chums like this don't grow on trees…"

"Yeah, yeah," Allan said and bent away the arm that still rested over his shoulder. Djaq's mouth had fallen open a bit, wondering if it was possible that this drunk actually took her for an English boy.

"And do chums usually grow on trees?" she said and got a confused look from Lot.

"What?"

"You said chums like this don't grow on trees…"

He peered at her and fell into drunken brooding while he tried to untwine the conversation. Allan took the opportunity to lean over the table to whisper something to Djaq. They met half-way, so close they could feel each other's body heat and the warm breaths.

"He'll be silent once he gets his ale, n' then he'll be to drunk to talk..." Allan reassured her. "But you should have just told 'im to beat it mind you."

"I find him rather amusing," Djaq sniggered and tried to ignore how close they were to each other. The edge of the table pressed to her stomach and made it painfully clear that there was butterflies in there that refused to remain still.

"Yeah, you would wouldn't you? Cousin Jack…" Allan snorted. "Not being funny but you look nothing like a boy."

"Really?"

"Nah, to pretty."

"There isn't a fruit called 'chum' is there? Or is it plum…" Lot suddenly interrupted them and Djaq fell back with a rush of relief. She felt dizzy and confused and not quite sure where this strange night was heading, all the time while the word 'pretty' was doing a very good job to occupy most of her thoughts. It was foolish. This was Saffiya taking over in her, always one to feel before she thought. The alcohol didn't help. Allan's cheeky smile and kind eyes didn't help either. The only thing that helped somewhat was the distraction that Lot posed. Three is a crowd and crowds were good when you didn't trust your own feelings.

As the evening grew darker The Black Sheep Arms filled up with a motley collection of Nottingham habitants. Lot remained by Djaq and Allan but got increasingly silent as he filled up with ale and only gave in to random, muttering rambling in between the pints. It was past midnight when Allan suddenly stiffened and stared to crawl into the corner, gaining some suspicious glanced from Djaq.

"Allan," she said. "What are you doing?"

"Hush Djaqie, I'm not being funny… but those lads… no friends of mine…" He nodded his head at two rather bulky men who just had made their way into the Black Sheep. "Tatchers," he explained.

"Really? What have you done? You tore down the roof?"

"Nah… I'm… You know…" he smirked nervously.

"He owes us money."

Djaq looked up to the men who had made their way over to the table and more or less plunged Lot away from the bench, leaving Allan unprotected.

"Listen," Allan said. "Lads… I can explain… I got your money, look!" He handed one of the men a pouch and he studied it suspiciously. Then his eyes widened and he started to pad his belt and chest looking for something with increasing desperation. It had always surprised Djaq that the pale English skin could change colour so dramatically under mere moments, and now this tatcher took on a skin tone that would have a boiled shellfish blush.

"That is mine!" he exclaimed. "You stole it! Just now! You stole when I stood here!"

"Gents…" Allan said, the cheeky grin firmly in place. He stood up from the bench and threw out his arms in a gesture that he probably considered disarming. "Look, no need to get upset, alright? I admit it, I may not have the money now…"

The punch snapped so fast that Allan was already flat on his back when he realised what had happened. It had hit him right across the cheekbone and he tumbled down on the table before he rolled to the floor, scrambling to get away from the hand that reached down to pull him up for another go. "Listen…" he said, "Gents… let's talk…" He ducked away from a second blow and the man fell down over the candle with a nasty sizzling sound. "Sorry…" Allan exclaimed.

"My table! My candle!" Jess Littlelamb was pushing her way through the crowd.

"Sorry!" Allan said again. He scanned the room for Djaq and saw that she was trying to fight off some innocent bystanders, who was working very hard on not maintaining innocent and certainly wasn't interested in any bystanding. "Djaq, I'm sorry," he said.

"Don't be sorry! Duck!"

Allan ducked just in time for a mug to miss his skull and shatter against the wall. "Bleedin' hell!" Allan exclaimed. "Forget about the guards, if the sheriff employed tatchers instead we would be toast!" It took him only a moment to realise that he had talked about himself as a part of the sheriff's enemies and the realisation made him freeze. He wasn't, wasn't he? He was on the guards' side now, he should be _advising_ the sheriff to employ tatchers…

"Allan what are you doing, hurry…" Djaq rushed up to him and started to pull him in the direction of the door.

"Listen, I'm sorry about this Jess, I'll pay… I will…" Allan said, giving the barmaid an apologetic shrug before they started to make their way though the crowd. Djaq held her hand in his, interlinked to not loose each other in the escape, and the feeling of her soft, warm skin made his heart throb faster.

They ran through the dark streets, only lighted by the moon and starts and some fires still burning in the houses. This was in the time when the night was truly black, no street-lights were reflected in the clouds, no electricity chased the night into the shadows. It took some time before Allan realised that Lot Twittle still was keeping up with them, a chaotic, wheezing escape as he tumbled from wall to wall in lack of balance. Allan would have sighed if there had been enough air left in his lungs, but at least they had gotten rid off the followers. He lowered his pace, tugging Djaq towards him.

"It's alright Djaqie," he panted. "We're alright. Lost 'em I think."

She looked at him with big eyes and nodded, then started to laugh, a soft rippling laugher that grew into a roaring river.

"Djaq… What is it? What is so funny?"

"I'm…" she laughed. "Nothing… This... What had you done Allan?!"

"Just… you know… some harmless scam… Not being funny but they definitely overreacted."

"Oh they did, did they?"

"Yeah!"

Djaq gave him a sceptical look then started to laugh again. "And then you stole his purse and repaid him with it!"

"It's worked before! Honestly! It keeps them occupied long enough, you get out the backdoor…"

"'Honestly' is not a word that suits you Allan-a-Dale," she said and started to walk in a calm pace. They were close to the wall now, in a green area where some sheep were munching on the low grass. Djaq and Allan exchanged a look when they heard some whimpers and pleasant moans coming from a secluded area and took a detour around it, silently smirking at each other.

"I'm not being funny but someone is having a very good night," Allan said when they had put the noises behind them, and Djaq smiled at him.

"I've had a good night too," she said, the hesitated a little. "You know you were asking why I came…"

"Yeah?" Allan looked at her intently now, with a focus that took considerable concentration through the ale fog.

"You're a good man," she said. "I wish you would remember that."

They had made their way in under a shelter and Lot Twittle slumped down by the wall. He had been hoping that there would be more ale coming but he seemed to have been rather mistaken and this looked like a good place as any to slumber on. His mind didn't work very fast, but now that he was still it did it best to catch up and glue the pieces together. Allan insisted on calling his cousin 'Jackie', and it stuck Lot that the smaller man didn't have any family resemblance to the a-Dales at all. He was very small… not more than a teenager no doubt. Perhaps it was some distant, young cousin from far away, like Scarborough. The night had almost started to make sense in Lot Twittle's head, the mosaic forming some random patterns of cause and effect, when it was all plunged apart again in one very swift blow. He sat gaping and staring at the two men before him as everything turned into chaos before his eyes. This was a strange world, in a strange time and a very strange night, but he was pretty sure that they should _not_ be kissing.

Djaq was not sure how it happened. In one moment she was looking at his black eye, in the next his body was pressed to hers, his mouth wet and sweet against her lips, the blonde curls entwined in her fingers… The closeness made her dizzy, his heart beat so fast under her palm and she felt his arms encircling her waist, pulling her closer into his embrace. Somewhere deep inside a voice was shouting at her to not to it, but it felt so right that she ignored it and let her hand slide down to his neck. She deepened the kiss, sucking out the last breath from his lungs and he lifted her up, pinning her gently to the wall. _This is where we stop_, she thought with a pang of regret as they were forced to break the kiss, but instead she clung to him and planted a kiss under his ear that made him moan her name. It was his version of her name, a longing 'Djaqie' that sounded profoundly feminine and enticing in his mouth. It struck her that she could get used to it, and in the next breath that it would be very hard to get used to never having this again. She knew that it was the alcohol that made her rash and emotional, but perhaps it also made her honest. It brought out Saffiya from her grave and left the ever so rational Djaq to skulk in the shadows. She shut her eyes and decided to give in to it, just this once she would let herself feel every emotion, savour every tender touch and not turn away when he looked at her. Allan leaned himself against the wall, Djaq still pinned firmly against it and turned to breath in the musky scent of her hair.

"Djaq," he said, struggling for air and with a slight tremble in the hushed voice. "I like you. I do…. I just… I really like you…"

"I like you too Allan," she answered gently, and added under her breath '_Allah help me Allan-a-Dale, I like you too…_'

----

When Allan made his way back to the inn where he currently lived it was so late the monks at least would consider it early. It was starting to get lighter outside and Djaq had made her way back to the camp. He couldn't remember when he last felt like this, his mind dazed and light-headed, and his lips were stretched into a lingering smile even if no one could see it. Tomorrow would be a different matter all together, even in this state of buzzing, intoxicating joy he knew that tonight was a disaster waiting to burst. But now, in this street with its shades of black and dark blue, with Djaq's scent still lingering on his clothes he pushed the doubts into a corner. He could still taste her lips on his, still hear her voice uttering the words_'I like you too Allan'_, still feel her hands stroking his neck and his hands trailing over every very feminine curve of her body. There had been clothes in between them but that was about it. Allan had never known such intimacy.

"Coin for the poor ol' beggar… please sur DAMN YOU ALL… coin… coin for the poor ol' beggar…"

Allan absently reached down into his pouch and pulled out a copper coin that he threw into the beggar's outstretched mug with a mumbling 'Ere you go mate'. The coin made a clinging noise as it hit the empty mug and the beggar stopped to stare at Allan as he walked away. It wasn't easy for the poorest of the poor these days, but then again, it was never easy for the poorest.

----

Robin pulled back the dirty brown shawl that covered his head and looked down into the cup in his hand. A copper coin, not much but still. No one ever gave him any money when he played this act, they took detours to avoid him. Now Allan-a-Dale strutted off down the street without a clue that he had just passed his old friend. Robin played with the coin and shook his head as Allan disappeared into the shadows. That man would end in hell, in spite of random acts of goodness. Robin was in a good mood, calm yet still feeling electric with all the emotions Marian had woken in him. Some of his rage had faded. So Djaq had accepted a gift from an old friend - that was no crime. He would simply have to keep an eye on her, make sure that she didn't sneak off and let herself be dazzled by the charms of an unreliable trickster.

With a sigh Robin pulled up the hood again and went away down the street, disappearing off to his home in Sherwood Forest.


	6. Chapter 6

Right, so I will speed this story up a bit... The reason is that I need it to catch up with the board I first started to post it on. I have been told off there to change the story because there is a... controversial issue... in later chapters. So I'm going to write a T-rated version (this one) and a M-rated version that I will post here as well. The chapters that will be affected is 8, 9 and 10, and maybe chapter 4 (I might put a little lemon in there as a treat to some of my readers that has asked that from me).

Anyway, here is chapter 6. Thanx for the fab comments! Right now that is what keeps me going... You don't get any personal thanx this time, I'm in a bt of a sour mood from being forced to change my story-line, but I do love you all.

xxx Trix xxx

* * *

Chapter 6:

Play the Pawn

"My Lord you asked for me."

"Ah Gisbourne… Come in."

Sheriff Vaysey was sitting by a small table by the window of his study, a game of chess displayed before him with all the pieced neatly placed on their starting positions. There was a noise of creaking leather and clinging metal as Guy moved into the room until he towered up by the little table.

"Tell me Gisbourne… Do you play at all?" Vaysey said, giving his sergeant a quick glance.

"Not on a regular basis."

"No… No surprises there…" Vaysey took a black pawn from the chess table and knocked over one of the white pieces. "Pawns," he said. "Of little value but they can be very useful, don't you think? Hm?"

"I wouldn't know…" Guy grunted impatiently. "My Lord is there a reason to why you have called me here?"

"Strategies Gisbourne," Vaysey sighed. "That is what this game is all about. Now…" He folded his hands and looked up at Gisbourne, gaining a not entirely pleasant view of the taller man's nostrils. "Where is your new mini-me this morning, 'Giz'?"

"I haven't got him in a leash My Lord."

"Ah but maybe you should, Gisbourne," Vaysey said waving a finger vaguely in his sergeant's direction. "Maybe you should... I was thinking, how strong are his loyalties with us, hm? What do you think?"

"As strong as any castle guard."

"But rather more useful I'd say… The bird-cage, now that is the kind of thinking that I like. Clever… Very clever… Hood cast him out did he not?"

"Yes My Lord."

"And if he had a chance to come back to his old life? Would he take it? Is he here by choice, Gisbourne, or by lack of choices… A clue… Well lack of choices seems to be the obvious answer here."

Gisbourne didn't respond, but cocked an eyebrow in a semi-acknowledgement while waiting for the sheriff's point to make itself clear.

"We need to make sure he stays on our team Gisbourne." Vaysey continued while scrutinizing the chess-board in front of him. "He may just be the piece we need to put the king in checkmate…"

"Really?" Gisbourne scoffed with a sceptical look. "In all due respect he is just an unreliable rogue."

"Ah, yes… Look at this piece Gisbourne," Vaysey said and picked up a black knight.

"It's a horse My Lord."

"It's a knight in fact… A black knight as it happens. It doesn't look much for the world, skulking behind the pawns… But this is the only piece that can jump over the other pieces. In a sticky situation that may be what we need you see. The unexpected move."

"You think Allan is a black knight?" Guy smirked mockingly, thinking that the knight wasn't particularly unexpected when everyone playing the game_ knew_ that he could jump over the other pieces.

"No perhaps not, but I am rather pleased that he isn't a white knight…" Vaysey said. "It is our interest that he remains so. And that is why I called you here."

"Indeed?" If there had been such a thing as medieval pocked watches then Gisbourne would have reached down into his leather jacket by now and pulled it out. He had better things to do than to stand here and listen to the sheriff rambling.

"Yes indeed… We need to make sure that Hood doesn't go soft on his old playmate you see. Now, what is the name of that unruly smith in Locksley Gisbourne? Hm? The one you… suspected of not being entirely at your side?"

"Lars Willow, My Lord."

"And he is one of Hood's is he? Hm… Well, bring him in Gisbourne. Thanks to our new associate we're going to have ourselves a hanging!"

Guy frowned as the sheriff's plan slowly dawned on him and then a smirk started to creep over his grim features. If Hood thought that Allan had betrayed one of Locksley's peasants then there would be very little chance for redemption. There was always the risk of contra-espionage in situations like this and that was something that Gisbourne would like to avoid by any means necessary. An unruly peasant, a white pawn knocked off the board in Vaysey's current metaphor of choice, and their king was one draw closer to checkmate…

----

There are only so many times a man can say 'I'm sorry' and quite frankly Robin was fed up with it. Those words spoken from Allan-a-Dale seemed like a hollow mantra - as if he believed a lie to become true if only people were fooled by it. Instead of soothing Robin's anger it simply provoked him, that a man could stumble along destroying lives with a mere shrug and try to fix it in two pathetic words (three if you wasted your breath on extending the 'm). Allan's view of the world was dangerously distorted. Indeed, that man was dangerous not because of malice but because of recklessness, and it bothered Robin that he had not seen the warning signs before. It was a blindness no commander could afford, putting himself and all that he loved in jeopardy. A good heart meant very little if it was worn without reflection or moral judgement, and 'I'm so sorry' just didn't change anything.

There had been weeks. And Robin had made sure that he knew where Djaq was all the time, one weary eye on the current weakest link. Sometimes they would see Allan from afar and there would be this sadness in the Saracen woman that he couldn't relate to. He did miss Allan, but he missed him for what he had been and not who he was now, not that despicable feeble man who looked like a pale shadow by Gisbourne's side. Allan-a-Dale was dead to him, or rather the illusion was dead and without it he was simply the kind of lowlife trash that didn't manage to make anything out of their wretched lives. He had every chance to be a better man but choose to ignore it. When the immediate rage slowly faded by the distance Robin only felt contempt.

The entire gang was moving into Nottingham today, cloaked under discreet hoods and carrying purses filled with coins for the peasants and towns people that came for the Wednesday market. Djaq was silently walking by Will's side, the young man concerned and a bit uneasy by her brooding mood but unsure how to tackle it. Robin was no expert when it came to other people's emotions, it still surprised him how swiftly Marian could read the mood in perfect strangers as if there were a thousand signs there that he just couldn't see, but he still felt rather certain that Will was a bit, well 'un-platonic', when it came to Djaq. It was in his way to watch her and make sure that he never strayed far from her side. Robin was also fairly certain that Djaq knew this but pretended that she didn't because it was easier that way. He sighed and turned away from the two outlaws. He had, very gingerly, asked Will to keep an eye on Djaq but he still found it very hard to let his own attention stray from her yet.

There was a downside to this caution obviously. It was an annoying but inescapable fact that Robin's relationship suffered the way relationships always suffer when your workload suddenly becomes overwhelming. He hadn't actually seen Marian since that night amongst the sheep, not the way he wanted to see her. There had been no more flaming, wonderful closeness, no real intimacy, just longing glances and hushed scheming. As courting goes it left a lot to be desired. And he did desire. Quite a lot in fact. For weeks and weeks he burned and pined and perished all the while trying to look like he was focused and sturdy. Much had asked him to try to count sheep when he twisted and turned his body though another sleepless night, and it almost made him choke on his own tongue.

"Well lads," Robin said as the outlaws had successfully made their way into Nottingham market. "We have business to attend to. Djaq and Will, take the central market area, Much go with Little John, take the peripheral areas and don't forget the elderly and housebound."

"But what about you master? Won't you come?" Much exclaimed, feeling a bit uneasy about leaving Robin alone.

"Don't worry. I will be close by."

"You're going to see Marian aren't you?"

"No!" Robin smirked in mock offence. He would probably not manage to catch her anyway, those walls were so thick and her guards, although easily paid off, were certainly not to be trusted. Too much was at stake.

He made his way to the caste yard, scanning his surroundings with the eyes of the prey – hunted, attentive eyes that left little for chance. It struck him that there were people in the castle yard, curious bystanders that were drawn there by human nature's uncanny sense for the most subtle shifts in their surroundings. Something was happening and they wanted to be there, the growing crowd attracting more people by the general lemming principle of following where the mass goes.

"I have never understood the attraction of hangings."

Robin flinched by the sound of the female voice coming from behind him and turned his head just enough to see Marian standing by his left shoulder, looking straight ahead as if he wasn't there.

"It is a hanging?" he inquired, trying very hard to suppress the sudden irrational rush of joy that went trough his body. "Who?"

"I do not know… I don't even know if it is a hanging. That was merely a guess, let us hope that I'm wrong, it is known to happen occasionally."

Robin looked around him discreetly at the anticipated faces. "Let's hope the crowd is wrong," he murmured. Then he coughed and turned to give the area behind Marian a swift glance. "No guards?"

"So it seems…" There was a pause, and then her voice came back with a different tone, hesitant and a bit awkward. "Robin, I need to talk to you."

Robin caught the change in the atmosphere with a rare emotional attentiveness and backed a step to be able to watch his love without turning all the way around. She seemed rather pale he realised, and a sudden fear gripped him, tugging his stomach and making him slightly dizzy. "Marian, is something the matter?"

"I'm…" she hesitated.

"You're not unwell are you?"

Marian caught the plain worry in his eyes and forced a smile. "No," she reassured him. "It's nothing..."

"It is not nothing!" he hissed.

"Schh…" Marian hushed and flashed Robin another brief smile. "You're making a hen out of a feather. I cannot talk to you about this here, it is not safe."

"Are you in trouble?"

"We're always in trouble are we not?" she smiled. "You and me both."

Robin frowned at her and sighed. "You are in trouble then… Marian…" he gripped her arm and pulled her back into a shady corner. "Come to the forest with me, you cannot stay here."

"You know that is not an option," she snapped and shut her eyes as a sudden queasiness came over her. She hadn't expected this to be an easy conversation, but to see Robin distraught and upset by the mere thought of her being in some sort of trouble made her hesitate. He would not take this well at all. "Robin…" she tried, but was interrupted by the sudden opening of the castle's main door. Sheriff Vaysey stepped out onto the massive stairs, a perfectly content little smirk on his lips and Gisbourne by his side. "What is happening?" she said.

Robin forced his attention from Marian's pale face and looked over to the crowd that now had aimed their eyes at the gallows. He shook his head. "I do not know, but this is not good," he mumbled.

There was a speech from the little sheriff, words going on and on about the value of loyalty and being a law-abiding citizen, but Robin and Marian had their focus at something different. From the smaller door leading down to the dungeons a couple of guards were shuffling a man in front of them, his hands tied back and a puzzled expression in his elderly face.

"Robin! Isn't that…"

"Yes," Robin hissed through gritted teeth, clenching his hand hard around the walking staff in his hand. Locksley village's aging smith, Lars Willow, was pushed up onto the little platform around the gallows and he squinted at the silent observers with a questioning look. That was man who didn't quite know why he was standing there, and as the hangman put the noose around his neck he just bowed down his head to make it easier for the executioner to reach.

"But why!" Marian exclaimed. "He is just an old man…"

"He helped us," Robin said giving Marian a severe look. "That is what the sheriff does if he finds out that someone is helping me."

Marian looked uneasy, shifted her weight to her left foot and gently pushed one hand inside Robin's cloak, discreetly grabbing his hand in hers. She couldn't talk to Robin now, couldn't make him upset when he needed to be soothed and calmed down. The couple stood in silence as the sheriff read out Lars Willow's crimes to the crowd and Robin's rage and Marian's fear grew with every word. Then there was a snapping sound as the hatch disappeared below the smith's feet and his neck was cracked by the knot on the rope, leaving the lifeless body dangling helplessly in the gentle breeze.

-----

Allan had been watching her ever since the gang entered Nottingham, but she was never alone, always looked after by Robin or Will or both of them. He was used to that kind of attention from worried fathers, guarding their daughter's honour from scoundrels like him. That had all been different though, it had been a youthful game and he could go on without those girls. But Djaq… Djaq he missed so much that it hurt, and even though he was a man of many, many words he just couldn't find the right ones to tell her that. So he watched her from afar and caught her glances, sometimes standing so close to her that he could reach out and touch her or simply pass her a quick, tender word. But there were only glances, his tongue got caught in his dry mouth and then she was gone.

Today she was in Will's company but they had parted in the market. Djaq was moving along a row of stands and slowly getting closer to the weaver's stand where Allan was hiding pushed tight against the wall and cloaked by shadows and pieces of hanging cloth. He gave out a low whistle as he saw her dark curls moving right by him and she turned to study the wares.

"Will is watching me…" She said and he felt a bit dizzy by the sound of her voice so close. His tongue felt swollen in his mouth and he swallowed hard to get it loose from this strange paralysation.

"I know," he said. She looked at him quickly, a small smile on her lips.

"How have you been?" she asked and he shrugged at her, his eyes shamelessly grazing over her manifestation. The hanging cloth surrounded her in bright green and purple, the vivid colours making her look blooming and full of energy, and he was struck by her beauty with a feeling of awe and deep, desperate longing. Then there was a moment when their eyes met and he opened his mouth to say something, anything, that could close the last lingering distance between them and ignore all the consequences. But as he made a move towards her she flinched away turning her attention to the marketplace where Will still held one eye at her.

"I need to go..." she said.

"Don't go!" Allan's words had snapped out so fast they surprised both of them. "I mean…"

"Allan I can't stay," Djaq interrupted him, but her face was painfully filled with regret. _She wants to stay_. "This is not the time."

"When is the time though?!" Allan exclaimed in a hushed voice. "I'm not being funny bit there is no time for us. I ruined everything before it started didn't I. I ruined it…" Now that his tongue could move again he didn't want her to leave, would do anything to make her stay if only to be near her.

"Don't say that you didn't ruin it!"

He took a swift step towards her, a small but determined movement that put him dangerously visible with the sun illuminating a new moon in his severe face.

"I want to see you," he whispered in a strained, slightly desperate voice. Djaq shifted herself so that she stood close to enough to feel his heat and the light draught when he moved his body, forcing him back into the shadows.

"There will be a time Allan, but it's not now, it cannot be now!"

"Why?" he whispered with a frustrated gesture, tensely throwing out his hands with the palms facing up.

"What do you mean?" she asked and gave him a puzzled frown.

"Your loyalty… It is so firmly with Robin Hood alright? But why? You're a Saracen!"

"He took me in, you all took me in. You accepted me. We fight for a good cause."

"Not being funny but Robin fights for what's his! His people, his king, his God. But it's not your king! Not your people! It's not even your God mind you… His king is off on a crusade slaughtering Saracens for His God. And you fight for him? Why is that so important to you?!"

"I rather fight for a man who wishes to do good than to be a coward who only fights for his own neck!" she snapped.

Allan flinched and watched her, studied the sad eyes and distraught upset movements. He felt a pang in his chest, a cold terror as the voice inside him threw out his arms in the old shrugging Allan-gesture._This is it_, it said, _now it's over. She has seen through you. You have gone too far. _ But Djaq didn't storm off, she didn't spit in his face and leave. Instead she simply shook her head sadly.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I did not mean that. What I saw in you Allan… When you stood up for your brother time and again even though he betrayed you. That was a good man. And you are still… You are still a good man. And so is Robin. I have seen many… many bad men. Saracen and Christian alike. In the war, on my travels… But you are not one of those! And neither is Robin. This world will never be right as long as we put labels on all the people that we meet..."

Djaq looked at Allan with those big trusting eyes, _believing_ in him, and it struck him where he stood in the shades that it was unbearable. It was unbearable because was _not_ that man she saw, he did not deserve her love. She looked at him as if she saw things there, wonderful things, but Allan knew they weren't really there at all. Somehow he managed to fool her even though he didn't even try and there was no way that it would last. Sooner or later she would see through his façade to the real Allan-a-Dale. Not a good man at all, all the pretences would fall and she would realise that the man that was standing before her was rotten and ugly under the lies. The unpolished jewel she tried to uncover was nothing but some glass covered in sooth. So how could she look at him like that?! Pure trust, pure love, she said he was a good man and she believed it to be true. Unbearable! Unbearable to let her down! And unbearable, so unbearable to loose that look…

He glanced up at her, saw the eyes still lingering on him with a certain pensive wondering in them, a bit sad but full of trusting love and they made him want to crawl out of the foul skin he inhabited. He wanted to be what she saw, to live up to it. Deserve her trust and love and make it all possible somehow. There were worlds between them, impossible distances to cover, and he knew that he should let her down right now and rip it all up in one fast snatch. Like you pulled out an arrow - that was the way to do it. Leave her to deal with the immediate pain rather than to become tainted and dragged down.

Then she gave him a half-smile and he knew in one very clear moment that he just couldn't do it.

Allan sighed and tried to relax his body that had become painfully tense by the sudden rush of emotion. "You should not be sorry," he said. "I'm the daft fool 'ere…"

"In time," Djaq said with her eyes still firmly studying him. "In time Robin will forgive you. If you play your cards right, don't make it worse."

Allan snorted a short joyless laugher. "Yeah right," he mumbled. "I'm not being funny but how can you be so sure?"

"He is my friend," she said. "I believe him to be a good man, and a good man will find forgiveness in his heart."

Djaq looked at Allan-a-Dale, saw that he was tired and wondered absently if he could feel the magnets too. It was the only word she could find suitable, something that pulled and tugged her towards him so hard she had to physically fight it, leaving her exhausted and close to tears. He had a sceptical look in his face now, wondering if her answer was true no doubt, if she was mistaken or lied to make him feel better. She did not. In truth she believed in Robin Hood's power of forgiveness, but it was not merely because she was his friend. She believed it because she had to, because that was the only way she could ever give in to these magnets. It broke her heart to see Allan like this, lost and lonely, and she knew that she would not sleep tonight. This worried longing was tearing her apart, the constant attention from Robin and Will and then this forced distance to a man that she…. Liked.

She reached out her hand to stroke a piece of blue cloth that was hanging by Allan's face but let her fingers move past it and gently cup his cheek. Time. In time things would be better, if he didn't mess things up worse than they were. Robin was already softening, and in time Djaq would start wearing down his defences, Allan would prove himself to be who she knew hat he was and they would be together. It had taken her time to truly realise that she wanted that, knowing it to be a fact not only when they were together but when they were apart. But now she knew. And she would gamble her heart, risking it and making herself vulnerable to the possibility to be broken and disappointed by this man who said 'I'm sorry' and still feared people's trust. She would risk it because in the end, love doesn't give us much choice.

"Djaq!"

The voice was sharp but not loud and it made Djaq withdraw her hand from Allan's face with a twitch, gripping a piece of yellow wool and study it with almost religious attention. She turned with the wool in her hand and saw Robin moving towards her, the rest of the gang close behind.

"What is it?" she said.

"Allan!" Robin hissed. "That is what it is!"

"Allan? What has he done now?" Much exclaimed and Djaq realised that they were all as puzzled as she was by Robin's fierce mood.

"He has revealed that Lars Willow has been working with us! He hanged today."

"What?" Will said with a deep frown in his forehead. "The smith from Locksley? He was an old friend of my father, he is dead?"

"Yes, dead by the foul mouth of a traitor," Robin scoffed.

"Allan would never do that!" Djaq exclaimed and moved so that she was stood facing the weaver's stand. Allan was tense, his eyes big and confused, and she shook her head at him to make him stay hidden.

"But you would say that wouldn't you?" Robin said with his eyes firmly on Djaq, his voice suddenly dangerously low and silky.

"What do you mean?"

"The spices Djaq, the spices!" Robin forced himself to lower his voice. "He gave you the spices."

There was a silence in the gang as they watched the Saracen woman with questioning faces.

"You knew…" Djaq said finally.

"Yes! Because I don't trust you Djaq! Do you really think I could trust any of you like before, now that Allan has plunged the dagger into my back!? I asked around."

"_He_ gave you the spices," Will interposed. "The traitor! Why?"

"It was a gift!"

"It wasn't a gift!" Robin scoffed. "That was an emotional bribe Djaq. And may I applaud him also, because it seems to have worked."

"What crime have I committed to be treated like this?" Djaq exclaimed and pushed back the tears from her eyes. "I have done nothing wrong! Associating with the enemy? This is just like the sheriff Robin… If there is no crime then you make one up!"

Robin sighed and restrained himself with some effort, holding back the fizzling rage that was born out of frustration.

"There is a choice Djaq." He finally said. "You can go with him or stay with us, so what will it be? The traitor's bed?"

"I do not share his bed…" she said and realised that she was crying openly now.

"Good," Robin responded. "Then this is an easy choice. I'm sorry Djaq…" He watched her with a tad of guilt and put a warm hand on her shoulder. "Maybe I have been unfair, but I must be firm… I cannot have another traitor…"

"I would never betray you!"

"No," Robin smiled. "I know you wouldn't." He moved away from Djaq and gave the looked at the other outlaws. "Well, there is nothing more for us here," he said. "Gang… this way."

As they walked off Djaq caught Allan's eyes in one brief moment as he made himself loose from the shadows and followed their disappearing backs with his gaze. There were tears, she realised, and bit down on her lip so hard she could feel her mouth fill up with the metallic taste of blood. Then Will put a hand on her shoulder, and gave her a forgiving smile that made her want to hit him hard for expecting her to need his forgiveness. She blinked away a tear and turned her eyes to the road, shrugged off Will's warm hand and followed the gang of scruffy British men into Sherwood Forest once again.


	7. Chapter 7

Okay so here is chapter 7. This story is in a bit of a mess atm because it's going to have two different versions. But it doesn't really affect it before ch 8.

Anyway, thanx a lot for the comments!!! I really appreciate all support I can get on this fic...

xxx Trix xxx

* * *

Chapter 7:

Control

Being brave and strong was all about suppressing certain emotions and impulses. Even though we have no control over our feelings weather to display or yield to hem is always a choice. This was an art that Djaq had perfected, working so hard on building the illusion of Djaq that she no longer knew where Safiya ended and Djaq started. No personality is completely composed, there are always contradictions and ambivalence and it happens from time to time the different sides of ourselves collide. It was strange, but the thoughts were actually_loud_. They squabbled and bickered inside her head, keeping her awake in the nights and never feeling quite at present during the days. _Allan made his choice, it didn't include you. Get over it and move forward. _Djaq said and slumped down by a log with her limbs spread out wide in a manlike manner, trying the own the world with her little body. _But he needs you, and you want to be with him. Love is so rare and you have walked so far alone, you cannot let it slip away!_ Safiya responded and glanced down at her reflection in the stream while threading the wild black curls with her fingers_. Remember the betrayal, he sold you out for coins!_ Djaq scoffed and Sayifa gave her a disgusted look for thinking such nasty thoughts about a man whom she held so dear. _He is a good man! He is lost that is all! _She persisted only to have Djaq giving out a short snorting laughter. _He is a fallen man and he will drag you down with him! You cannot afford to be that weak! _She said, and so it went on and on until Djaq fell asleep from mere exhaustion. It was tiresome and she found it impossible to hide her foul mood from the other outlaws. They were worried about her, first appearing a bit angry regarding the ridiculous story with the spices and then increasingly guilty for judging her. They couldn't know how much their kind excuses hurt, in truth they meant nothing when she knew how much they would despise her had they only known the full extent of her 'crimes'. _Suits you right for being such a fool_, Djaq sighed while Safiya snorted and gave the outlaws an angry glare behind their backs.

Djaq shook her head to get rid of the voices, but it only scrambled them up for a while and they came back moments later with renewed strength. _Sorry is not enough,_ Djaq sneered. _It is if you truly mean it,_Safiya screamed.

"Shut up," Djaq mumbled to herself.

"Sorry did you say something?"

Djaq flinched and looked up into Will's concerned eyes, flashing him a brief smile.

"No I was only cursing this damned bow," she said and reached over the longbow that she had half-heartedly been trying to string for the better part of an hour.

"I can do that for you," Will offered, and a rather treacherous Safiya scoffed that there certainly were no surprises there. He was so predictable like that, always sweet and meek. She knew that it shouldn't provoke her but at the moment it only seemed to highlight the differences between him and Allan. He worked so hard to do everything right and be a perfect man. And he was in a way perfect, the kind of boy a mother would choose for her daughter. Good with wood. Professional and caring. She was a fool to have preferred to sit here with an unreliable rogue charming her with a cheeky smirk and a low joke, yet that was the simple truth of it. Will was a dear friend, a little brother to look after. Allan was something else.

'Adventurous' and 'exciting' makes a poor foundation for a relationship, yet she knew that there was more than that. She had worked so hard to pinpoint the attraction, most of the time it eluded her but she had moments of clarity. They had things in common, her and Allan-a-Dale. Both had a history of trying to be something they were not, or even a present. Both were confused and lost at times. They would joke and laugh together, she could bring out things in him that were hidden deep inside and he woke feelings in her that she thought she didn't have the power to feel. He was cheeky and challenged her, and she loved his way of facing the world with a smirk and a joke. She knew that they were parts of his disguise, but a human's disguise is also a part of her skin. It is what she presents to the world and how she deals with the obstacles she meets on the way. Allan made mistakes, he had flaws that could be disastrous, but he was also a good man. He was the man who had given his brother not only a second chance, but a third and a fourth and a million chances. There were so much potential in him, so much love and compassion, so much forgiveness… A perfect man would not forgive as easily because he would not understand the crime. Allan was a man who understood people's weaknesses and accepted the flaws the way only a flawed man could. Sure, he was bitter, and most of the time he didn't have to be forgiving since it was he who made the mistakes, but that was merely practical facts. In theory Allan-a-Dale was a good man. And thus she loved him for all that he could be. Thus she loved him in spite of all Djaq's righteous objections. Thus she loved him so much that it hurt. Thus she loved him.

Yet, she was a fool to do so and both Djaq and Safiya knew full well that these emotions came with a price much higher than anyone should have to pay for love.

"There you go," Will said and passed her the bow with a smile, ripping her out of her musings.

"Thank you Will," she smiled. "It looks well-stringed."

"It is," he nodded.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while with the occasional remark about the weather or some improvement Will planned in the camp. He seemed calm and at ease, perfectly collected in a way that Djaq envied, and she pushed away Allan to the back of her mind trying to savour the serenity of the moment. It would have been intimate if she hadn't been so far away, and she suddenly felt suffocated by the secrets and emotions she had to subdue.

"Will," she said hesitantly. "Do you ever hear voices? In your head?"

"Voices?" Will asked with a puzzled expression. "What kind of voices?"

"Just… Arguing voices. Like you can't agree with yourself?"

"Not really," Will said carefully. "I mean, you think what you think don't you?"

Djaq felt a pang of guilt followed by a sudden tenderness towards the man by her side. He tried so hard to understand her yet he couldn't, and it hurt to know that however hard he tried he couldn't give her what she wanted. Will had the black-and-white worldview of a young person, filled with a passion that left little room for shades of grey. It was nothing wrong with that, simply who he was. Much like the wood he loved he was solid and steady most of the time, reliable and sweet but didn't change his views easily. Inside her chest Safiya cried while Djaq told her to get over it, his love for her was not her problem.

"But when your father died?" she tried. "You were not torn… confused?"

"I was an idiot," he frowned. "I didn't know better. I was a fool, Djaq. Is that what this is about?"

"No," Djaq shook her head and flashed him a smile. "It's nothing."

"Why did you ask then?"

"No reason… just a thought."

_Not being funny, but voices in your head? Sound like someone has been eating too many mushrooms to me._ Djaq could hear Allan's voice so clear as if it was him sitting beside her, a joking grin spreading all over his features. It was how he would have reacted to her question and the thought forced her to cover up the sudden smile that tugged her lips.

"Is something funny?" Will smiled.

"No, no nothing." _Funny_. Even as Will said the word she could hear him hesitate half way through. It was Allan's word, he held it hostage and saying it out loud always brought his shadow lounging into the conversation.

"What do they say these voices anyway?" Will continued, ignoring the slightly uncomfortable tension in the air.

"Oh," Djaq responded laughing. "Just that I have been eating too many mushrooms..." Will smiled at her and cocked a rather knowing eyebrow.

"Will, I need to go clean up before dinner," Djaq said and rose with some effort. She must have been sitting here a long time for her body to feel this stiff, but it was easy for one hour to become three when you didn't do anything constructive.

It was impossible, she thought as she made her way to the little pond some distance from the camp. It was impossible for Will to love her. It was impossible for Djaq to love Allan. It was impossible to be loved by Allan in return. Yet these were the hopeless, impossible facts that they had to live with. So Djaq was rational and Safiya emotional and the two of them never quite merged. What did she do now? There was no choice here, she couldn't go with Allan in the way so many women just follows their man. It was not who she was, she had her own path. Her conviction was here, and how do you go against everything you believe in? It would destroy them, destroy everyone. She had her loyalties in Sherwood yet her heart was stuck on the wrong side of the Nottingham castle wall… She had been in some sticky situations in her life but this one just about took the price.

Djaq already sat crouched down by the water when she realised that she wasn't alone. Her first thoughts went to Will but this was too subtle, he always gave himself away within moments. This was only a feeling really, something she couldn't quite pinpoint. She stood up and looked around the glen without seeing anyone, her hand on the short sword.

"Is anyone there?" she said, and was answered by the wind blowing through the trees, the leaves rustling on the creaking tree-trunks. She removed her hand from the sword and sighed. "First I hear voices in my head, then I think I'm being followed…" she mumbled. "I must be out of my mind."

"Not being funny but, yeah, probably."

Djaq turned around so fast that her head felt dizzy by the sudden movement, and was met by Allan idly strolling into the glen. "Why didn't you say it was you?" she exclaimed. "You scared me."

"Sorry…" he grinned. "Listen…"

"What are you doing here? You shouldn't be here." Djaq interrupted him and crouched down by the pond again, ferociously splashing cold water into her face.

"Alright I know, but I needed to see you."

"Has it ever crossed you mind…"

"What? That you don't want to see me? Not being funny but yeah, it happens."

Djaq stopped with her hand still cupped and filled with clear, chilly water, partly turning towards him. Safiya was already making small pirouettes of joy through her body and she suppressed the impulse throw herself into his arms, grabbing hold of the turfs with her free hand to ground herself.

"I wasn't going to say that," she said. "Don't put words in my mouth."

"Then you want to see me?"

Allan let a cheeky grin slowly bloom out in his face and Djaq found it very hard to stay mad at him. She loved that he was here but in the same time hated that it made her feel so happy.

"You are so annoying!" she laughed. "Why have you come here?"

Allan frowned and fell down besides her, leaning on his arms in a half-lying position. He had a body that was made for soft couches and divans, and the lack of such furniture in his life didn't stop him from lounging as if the stones were comfy cushions. "That stuff about the smith and all?" he said "It wasn't true, I wouldn't do that! Listen, you need to believe me, Djaqie…"

"It doesn't matter much now, Allan." Djaq sighed and leaned down beside him, resting her body-weight on her palm.

"It does matter!" Allan insisted.

"No it doesn't! I can't make them change their minds!"

"But you would though?" he said and looked at her intensely. "I mean, if you could do it, right?"

She sighed and rose up from where she was sitting, pacing away a few steps. "Sure, if the world was different," she said. "But it's not."

"It could be!"

"Allan they will never forgive you now!!!"

Allan scrambled to his feet and walked over to her. "Then what am I supposed to do, ey?! I said I'm sorry, I meant I'm sorry… I'm sorry alright?!"

"And I forgive you but they will not!" Djaq exclaimed, wondering for one moment of mental vertigo how much she would actually be willing to forgive him.

Allan looked dejected and put his hands in his sides, shifting his gaze from Djaq to the ground. He was as stuck as she was in this, worse even, and he was astute enough to realise that this was an impossible situation. The problem was that Allan didn't believe in impossible situations. There was always some, often rather dubious and immoral, way to wiggle yourself out of the trap. A fox will gnaw off his own leg if he has to in order to save his life and Allan was much like the fox in this.

"Just tell me it meant something, alright?" he said and gave her a slightly desperate look. "Tell me it wasn't just ale… And you know. Loneliness."

"Allan…"

"Please! Djaq, I have… I have no one! I have nothing! I thought I wanted the bleedin' money, but I don't care now… It's nothing. Everything I have is nothing!"

"Allan," Djaq hushed and moved up to him, cupping his rough cheek with her hand. "It did mean something."

Allan smiled at her, trailed a hand down her back to pull her closer, and pressed his head to her damp hair. "Djaqie," he mumbled against her mouth. She could feel his body heat to hers and leaned in, allowing herself to rest against him for a while. It was silent, only the wind in the trees and the sound of his slightly laboured breathing. No voices buzzing in her head, no internal bickering, she had not known how tense she had been until she felt herself relax by his proximity. It wasn't fair that she would feel like this when it made everything so difficult.

"I need to go back to the camp," she mumbled and stepped back, ignoring how cold she felt without his arms around her.

"Right," he agreed with a sad half-smile. Then he halted for a while with his body half-turned away from Djaq and sniffed in the air. "Djaqie, I'm not being funny but it smells seriously funny 'ere," he said. "Is that Much's cooking? I didn't think it would be possible mind you, but it seems he's gotten worse... Is he trying to poison you?"

Djaq frowned. If he could smell it too then it could not only be a hallucination. It did smell odd, but there were a lot of things in this word that were odd at the moment.

"I'm sure it's just dinner," she said and gave Allan one final tender glance before she turned her back on him.

As Djaq walked down towards the camp the smell got stronger until it almost made her queasy. She tried not to wince at the scent of her Saracen spices, mixed up with something rather burned and the usual sweet mixture of honey and occasional herbs that were Much's favourite flavouring.

The outlaws stood shattered facing the fireplace in barely restrained anticipation when she arrived. They were waiting for her.

"What is this?" Djaq exclaimed with a feeling of awe.

"Well… We thought…" Much was standing over by the cooking pot, his brow sweaty and a bit flushed. "Since that time in the market place… Well, we wanted…"

"It's a feast Djaq," Robin interrupted him. "Our way to say we're sorry. I was out of line accusing you like that."

"You were?"

"It's only a gift… I can understand if you felt tempted so far away from home. I didn't listen to you, and I think that is a mistake I can't afford right now."

_Tempted_. Djaq blushed a little, wondering if Allan remained by the pond still, so close yet so very far away. "I was," she said with a brief smile. "Do you know Saracen cooking, Much?"

"Well… I don't know it _as such_… I mean I have tasted it…. And tasted very little for days after. I might add. But I scrambled it around a little, threw some stuff together."

It sure looks scrambled alright, Djaq thought and glanced down at the steaming… stew…

It was one of those meals that doesn't taste any better than they look or smell. Yet the other outlaws had the kind of look in their faces that you just can't disappoint, like children handing over their hand-made Christmas presents. They were trying so hard, they even bravely ate the food themselves, and thus she complemented it as if she hadn't tasted anything like it since her mother's cooking.

"Well," Much said when they were done with the meal. "How did I do?"

"Oh… It was very nice. Really!" Djaq exclaimed, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt.

"You don't think I overdid the honey then?"

"Oh no… This was just right… Perhaps with another meat…" Djaq caught Robin's face from where he sat behind Much and realised that he could hardly restrain himself from laughing. The scoundrel! He knew full well that this was nothing like the Saracen cooking! She glared at him and put down the plate. "It was really good Much" she said "But perhaps next time, you will let me cook you a Saracen meal…"

After all, she though as she chewed on a piece of dry bread, it was a shame to waste the nice spices. The ones Allan gave her. Allan. The gang. Will. Impossible situations. They would have to wait for another day. Inside her head Safiya and Djaq had entered a short truce, and as night fell over Sherwood Forest the smile in her face almost reached her beating heart.

-----

Allan had planned to leave when Djaq went back to the camp. Really. He never wanted to sit up on that hill and watch his old allies and the woman that he loved laugh and feast together. He never wanted to, but he couldn't help himself. The sound of her voice captivated him, he wanted to hear her speak and laugh, he wanted to be part of their jokes and bickering. He wanted to be the one that sat on Will's place by her side, so close their legs and arms touched whenever they moved. He wanted to sit there and kiss that soft golden skin, hold her arm around her when it got colder and she wrapped herself in a blanket. He wanted that to be his blanket. He knew that Will probably thought something similar, but she moved away from him when he got too close. She wouldn't have moved away from him. Allan even wanted to share that horrible meal.

With a sigh he finally rose from the place where he sat crouched down. It was too dark to see much now and they were talking to low for him to hear it. Djaq was getting drowsy, her figure heavy and silent, nodding off and shrugging her body to stay awake. He wanted to sleep by her side.

"Night Djaqie," he mumbled and gave the gang a final glance before he disappeared into the foliage. He could afford a real meal, well-cooked fine meat and nice strong ale.

Wasn't it a crying shame that he just wasn't hungry.


	8. Chapter 8

Okay so this is a bit weird... :lol:

Basically there are **two** different versions of what happens in chapter **8, 9** and **10 **of this story. I have decided to put the safe version up here. The other version was sort of banned from a forum because it was a little bit controversial, witch is the reason to this versions excistence in the first place.

The other version of what happens in these chapters will be put up on as well. I will make a new 'story' called 'Panes of Glass Mrated version' or something. But since almost all chapters are the same I will just put up the M-rated chapters there. Basically it all comes down to me being lazy hehe. Anyway, I will update both versions simotaniously. Chapter 8 is almost identical in the T-rated and M-rated version, just a bit of a difference in the storyline. Think of the different versions as two paths leading to the same point further ahead (in chapter 10-11 actually).

Oh thanx a lot for all comments and sorry it has taken so long to update... Both chapters 9 will be up on Sunday I think :)

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Chapter 8:

Choices 

Life. Right now Marian though it felt much like trying to run trough a waist-deep lake. You struggled so hard to get ahead but every step seemed to be hindered by dark, cold masses of water, her feet sucked into the slippery mud.

She was in her room in the castle, with the faint rustling from the bored guard outside her door and the occasional swallow diving by her window as her only company. It had been known to happen from time to time that Robin came on an unexpected visit, leaping down from her ceiling or materialising out of the shadows. He came and went in a smoke cloud, she didn't see him arriving and he left as if he had never been there in the first place, little precious fleeting moments. And that was all they had. Random scheming, random kisses, random bickering and off he went with another cheeky grin. He was Mr Charming one moment and the next a troubled warrior with the weight of the world heavy on his shoulders. She savoured those moments, couldn't walk into her room without scanning every little corner after a sign of her lover, yet they somehow always left her feeling unsatisfied. It wasn't enough. She would wait for days for him, perfecting what she needed to tell him in her head, and then when he was standing in front of her it never turned out as she had planned. She got sucked into his problems while her own fell to pieces, and then they were forgotten until he was gone and it was too late to tell him anything.

Marian felt queasy and tired and watched her reflection in the mirror, her face pale and the eyes puffy and red. She treaded her fingers trough the hair and sighed, thinking that it would take a man very much in love to find her pretty now. Not that it mattered, Robin hadn't been around for days and last time she saw him he was troubled and distracted. A knock on the door made her flinch and turn away from her sad reflection.

"Come in," she said and put on an aloof little smile.

The door creaked open and Allan-a-Dale swaggered in with his usual innocent grin. She thought it looked a little tainted by some unspoken sorrow, a bit ragged in the edges, just a little bit too shallow. But perhaps she had just stared herself blind on her own reflection and saw herself in everyone she met.

"Hey," Allan greeted her. "Just came to say I'm out 'ere... watching or whatever. Taking over from the guard for a while… Best place to sleep on the job really, not being funny but nice touch to put that cushioned stool outside your door..."

Marian smiled. "I do like it when my guards sleep on the job," she said and then hesitated for a while before she added. "Do you want a plum Allan? Some wine perhaps?"

Allan cocked an eyebrow and closed the door behind him, walking into the room. "Don't mind if I do," he said. "You want a little company?"

"I want a little information," she responded with a frown briefly passing over her features as a shadow. "Allan what is it like… the camp?"

"You should know," Allan said absently and picked up a sun-warmed plum from a bowl on the windowsill. "You've been there."

"Yes, but I haven't lived there. And you have. I was wondering, is it… well-sheltered? Safe? Warm?"

"It's rather comfy… Yeah," he hesitated a while. "Like a draughty cottage," he admitted. "Good enough for shepherds good enough for outlaws."

"But it keeps out the cold?!" Marian exclaimed. Her breathing was fast and a bit strained as if she was upset. "And food - is there food?"

"Alright, alright, calm down…" Allan turned to her and took a bite of the juicy plum. His voice was muffled by the fruit when he continued. "It is cold you know, never enough to eat… but it is…"

"Comfy?" Marian scoffed and Allan suddenly became aware of the silent screaming despair in her face. He knew that look, he had seen it reflected in blank surfaces and every time he washed his face in a bowl of water. It was the look of someone who was running out of options and didn't know what to do. He swallowed and put down the rest of the half-eaten fruit on the windowsill.

"Hey are you alright there Maz?" he asked carefully and she gave him a cringing smile.

"Maz?" she said with a snorting laughter. "You take liberties… I'm fine, just a bit queasy. Something I ate perhaps… Don't worry, I haven't touched those plums."

"You're not sick? You want me to get Robin for you?"

"That is hardly an option," she said smiling bitterly. "I'm fine... I am… I'm just…"

"Woo… you're not pregnant!?" Allan had called out the thought as soon as it hit him as a vaguely possible option, but as soon as it left his lips he knew that it was true. It was written all over her face, the way she flinched and stared at him completely taken aback.

Marian sighed and sat down on a small wooden stool, leaning her elbow against a table and resting her head in her palm. "Oh God…" she exclaimed in a hushed voice. "Yes…"

"How long?" Allan said, his tone soft and a bit puzzled by the revelation.

"I don't know… I mean does it matter?" He realised that she was crying, yet she smiled through the tears and laughed bitterly. "A few weeks," she said. She had her fist pressed hard against her abdomen, pushing it as if she could force the unwanted foetus to sink back and go away.

"It doesn't show," he reassured her.

"It will," she laughed. Her father is still in the dungeons, Allan thought. The child won't survive in the forest. Sir Guy will kill her if he finds out. She is stuck. Marian straightened her back and rose from the chair, nervously arranging her jewels in neat rows on the table. "You don't seem that upset," she said, her carefully crafted façade back up even though it was flaking and had cracks in the veneer.

"Nah, not my thing really," Allan answered with a small smile. "Anyway, where I come from these things happen."

"Has it happened to you?"

Allan snorted and threw out his arms, displaying the flat chest and rather less flat areas further south. He let his gaze flickered down over his body and then back up to Marian with cocked eyebrows.

"Not being funny but I think you're missing something 'ere."

"You know what I mean! It takes two to tango Allan."

"How should I know? It's not like they come with a label mind you… Come to think of it that would be practical wouldn't it? 'Descendant of Allan-a-Dale'… Better throw that sod down the well before 'e learns to talk…"

"Is that what they do? Throw them down the well… When they can't… you know."

Allan frowned and watched Marian, wondering if she was mocking him. But the noble woman only looked questioning and a bit nervous, tensely awaiting his answer.

"Well… It happens alright? Some leave 'em by the church… Some… well you know. There are other ways if you know who to ask." He looked at her, hesitating for a while. He was not a moral man but he was practical and empathetic, and Lady Marian was a woman deep in trouble. "You know I could help you," he said carefully. "If you need an option."

"How?" she exclaimed disbelieving, her eyes dimmed once again by desperate tears.

"Well…" he sighed. This was such a bad idea. "Listen… This is no good for a lady like you alright? They're not your kind… They're good lasses don't get me wrong. Just different, yeah? They do stuff differently down there… In the gutter or whatever."

"I think you will find I am beyond 'kinds' now…"

"Well I'm just saying… They got ways. There's this lady called Mistress Aud, she… helps."

Marian flinched as Allan mentioned Mistress Aud. She might be a noble woman but noble women had maids, and maids had cousins that were maids in Nottingham, and maids in Nottingham had friends who got into trouble, and so the fine chain of 'I know someone who know someone…' made its way into even the most gilded and well locked of bed chambers. Marian had heard of Mistress Aud.

"Allan I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," she said with an intense stare at Allan-a-Dale. "That is the kind of help that isn't a help at all."

He gave her a shrug and an innocent half-grin. "Well alright… Don't shoot the messenger," he said with a wink. "Is it safe to keep it though?"

That was the core of the problem. It wasn't safe, not any of it. This wasn't a time for children, not with the king away and the child's father outlawed. Not with her in house-arrest and her own father in the dungeons. The forest might be romantic, so long had it worked as a symbol of freedom for Marian that she imagined it a merry place far away from the grim reality of Nottingham politics. But she wasn't naïve, in the end she knew that a life in the forest would be harsh. Little food to share, constantly hunted and on the run and when winter came it would get worse. This was in a time when the forests of England were wild and savage places, and the winters were cold under deep, silent snow with flocks of wolves roaming the white death for easy prey. The sheriff was clever enough to know what hardships the winter would bring to the outlaws. There would be dogs and in the end you couldn't outrun them, not with the tracks in the snow, so you would have to stay in the trees or underground, hiding in caves or huts. No the winter wouldn't be easy, it would be a time to freeze and starve and run for the outlaws. As for a pregnant woman? A newborn baby? For them the forest would be a place to die when the ground froze and the hunt was on.

"The child will come in the winter," Marian said and Allan gave her a rather sad crocked smile. "I thought… I was hoping that the king would come back before that. But he won't, will he?"

"Nah I think the bets are through the roof on that one. Sorry."

"Not you fault…" Marian said automatically, then hesitated and added. "Not_completely_ your fault."

Allan looked down to avoid her accusing eyes, but then he realised that the young noble woman seemed only barely aware of his presence in the room. She had paced over to the window and gazed out over the dark green trees of the forest, longing for something that would never be real - a dream that both broke her down and kept her alive. It went on forever, mile after mile of trees turning the horizon into a fluffy green cloud. Somewhere in there her salvation, or somewhere under those harmless leaves her demise. Love and tragedy were so tightly intertwined as the ivy hugs the oak, and it strung a chord in Allan's chest to see Marian's silent desperation.

It could be debated for years what kind of man Allan-a-Dale was, a traitor with a soul so cheap it could be sold at The Trip to Jerusalem inn, but as he stood before Marian Fitzwalter on this cruel day it was with a genuine empathy and honest will to help her.

"Looks nice from up here doesn't it?" Allan said and went to stand with Marian by the window. "All the people… Tiny little dots."

"Yes," she agreed and smiled. The guards seemed like toy soldiers down on the court yard, the spears harmless little twigs in their hands. "They all got routines," Marian suddenly blurted out and leaned out a bit to see the yard better. "The washing maids… The farmers coming with deliveries. The soldiers… They always take the same routes, like a life is just made out of a series of habits. That girl," Marian pointed down to a maid that was carrying a big basket with cloth. "Her name is Erin. Every day she crosses the yard to go with the linen to the washing areas, and she always walks in the shadows even if the day is grey or it means that she has to take a long detour. And you see that stout guard over there, the one that glances up to the western wing? He is looking for someone up there, sometimes he will see what it is he is searching for and he will stand over there by the tower, where he is hidden under the straw roofs, and just watch."

"What do you think he's looking for?" Allan said curiously, captured by Marian's little peeking game and all these people that he'd never given a fleeting thought.

Marian shrugged. "I don't know. Perhaps he is in love with some maid. I'm just thinking… Life goes on... People are born and live and go by their little habits and die. History will never remember most of them. A life means so very little."

"Nah I don't know about that," Allan said. "Look, that maid, Erin right? I bet she means stuff to loads of people."

"I'm sure she does… But what about the bigger picture Allan?" Marian said with a frown. "We are tiny little dots, you said it…"

"Not being funny but I said _they_ were tiny little dots. You look rather big to me."

Marian smiled. "My point is that most things we do doesn't matter. We're just little dots going about our business. But what Robin does is important. It is about the future of England."

Allan saw her putting a hand on her belly, cupping it a little as if the child was taking up room there already, and then gingerly graze the green wool almost absently.

"Don't worry," he said with a grin that could be either disarming or provoking. "You really don't _look_ fat."

Marian gave him a sharp look but then she relaxed and started to laugh lightly. "Allan, do you get slapped a lot by the women you meet by any chance?" she smirked.

"Well you know…" he shrugged with a grin.

Marian smiled and rubbed roughly over the dress, as if she tried to erase the shadow of her own tender touch, and straightened her back with a look of determination. "Anyway," she said. "What Robin does matters, it matters for a lot of people. But if he knew bout this then this would matter more."

"You think?" Allan cocked an eye brow in disbelief. "He really likes that king of his mind you."

"It is your king also," Marian chided him. "Even if you seem to have forgotten it. And I am sure - Robin would leave all that to save me and the child. I do not want him to do that, yet he will… He will not listen."

"Yeah it must be a real problem to be loved like that…" Allan muttered. He was growing slightly impatient. "Look, what options do we have 'ere? In the end you have to make a choice mind you."

Marian twitched at the use of the word 'we', as if she and this man were in this together. But he was a trickster and a traitor, an unreliable near-stranger who had nothing to do with this. It should be Robin standing here.

Yet it couldn't be Robin. She sighed and rubbed her temples, when did the world become this complicated!?

"So I was thinking," Allan continued. "You could let Guy bed you."

"_What?!_"

"Well you know… Not being funny but it is the easy solution. The kid will be his then won't it? A bit early but men never get the hang of women's stuff anyway…"

"No!" Marian stated firmly. Of all the foolish ideas, this was the worst thing he could say. It was horrible because he was right, it was clever and logical, but it would destroy her entire life. If she went down that path then every chance of ever being happy with Robin would be thrown down the well, all this longing and waiting would have been nothing but wasted hope.

"Alright, alright…" Allan said. "Don't get your knickers in a twist. Well, you could just have it then. Say it's a castle-guard or whatever…"

"Guy would kill me," Marian snorted. "And then he would find a likely father and have him decapitated."

"Nah he wouldn't kill you… And guards… They're one in a dozen, an' all guilty of _something_ mind you." Allan smirked.

"He might decide that you are the likely father…"

Allan looked a bit taken aback as he considered this possibility. "Right," he said. "Maybe not have it here then."

"Right."

"Look, we're running out of options 'ere," Allan whined. "You're too picky."

Marian cocked an eyebrow at him and stood silent for a while mused over her choices. There weren't any good ones, only ones that were relatively speaking better than others.

"I have to disappear…" she finally said with a resigned sigh.

"Wha'?" Allan had his mouth open and a new plum half way into the gaping hole. Now the action froze half-way through and he put the plum back in its bowl, staring at Marian.

"I leave! Run away… a couple of months, just enough for it to… resolve itself."

"What, alone?" Allan studied her intently.

"Yes! You must look after my father… And help me out! We need a plan, I can't just leave…"

"Oi, calm down!" Allan took a deep breath and tried to get a grip around the situation. "Right," he said. "A plan… I'm good with plans. But are you sure you want to do this? It will break Robin's little beating heart!"

"Not as much as me dying or bedding Gisbourne."

"Yeah so you got a point there. Well you know… I could abduct you."

"Abduct me?" Marian looked puzzled.

"Not as me obviously," Allan smirked. "Nah I'd have to be in disguise wouldn't I? 'Mysterious stranger'… That'd be something. I could abduct you as the Nightwatchman!"

Marian gave out a snorting laughter as if she couldn't quite believe what he said.

"Look, we got the costume already! Saves us time..." Allan insisted. He was getting increasingly excited over the new plan - it seemed like something he and the lads could have been up to in the old days.

Marian studied him and Allan got an eerie feeling of looking into Robin's eyes, honest, astute and strangely intimate. "Why?" she finally said. "Why would you help me Allan?"

He shrugged. "I think the little dots matter… Listen, you need help and I want to help you alright? I got a little good in me as well... Anyway, it will be fun… Not being funny but you don't really get to have much fun working with old Gizzy, he got as much charisma as a piece of wood..."

"Yes, I'm sure you do have a little good in you," Marian mused, ignoring the comments about Sir Guy. "But that is not it is it?"

Allan frowned. He felt uneasy, Marian's manners were unsettling for him and his last meeting with Djaq had been…. _Djaq_. If there was another reason then she was it, it all came down to those big soulful eyes. The mere thought made his heard pound faster and his skin felt animated where she had last touched it. One embrace and a night of watching her from afar, watching all of them from afar... "I want back," he said with a voice that sounded weak and dejected compared to his recent enthusiasm. "You're Robin's lass… Not being funny but if I help you… you know… In time or whatever."

"You want to be the good guy again?" Marian scoffed a bit harsher than she had intended. "Just like that? I wave my magic wand and everything is forgotten? You are more naive than I thought… If Robin knew… if he knew that I am even considering leaving like this then I'm not sure he would forgive even me."

"Not being funny but you could get away with murder, Robin loves you."

"This is worse than murder…" Marian mumbled under her breath. "To him this will be much worse than murder, I'm sure of it... He will think I am a traitor for abandoning him like this."

"Well anyway… He'll get around eventually. Look, you just put in a good word or two, he listens to you."

"I can't make him take you back Allan. To be honest I'm not even sure I want to… He is right not to trust you. And I will be gone for months!"

"But I'm not expecting sudden redemption!" Allan exclaimed, and threw out his arms in frustration. "I just want it to be enough! At one point, in time… I can wait."

"Marian frowned, puzzled by the sudden emotional outburst. "Enough?" she said. "Enough for what Allan? Wait for what?"

"Well…. You know. Enough not to get killed next time I meet him… A little truce or whatever," Allan mumbled and shied away from Marian's intensive stare.

"A little truce?" she said disbelievingly. _Drop it_, Allan thought, but she knew that it was more he wasn't telling her and she wasn't one to yield. No wonder she was such a good source of information for Robin.

"Look," he sighed. "It's simple enough alright? I just want to be able to see my old mates."

Marian continued to stare at him.

"One mate actually," he mumbled. "In particular."

Marian went over to the little table, pored up a glass of wine, cocked her eyebrow and continued to stare at him.

"Djaq… actually…"

Marian titled her head, smiled and stared at him with amusement in the blue eyes.

"I think I love her," he mumbled with his ears burning. "There, I said it. Not being funny but you're bleedin' good at this…"

Marian went over, gave him the glass of wine and continued to stare at him with her arms folded.

"You want _her_," she stated finally with a rather mysterious grin.

"Well… Yeah," he shrugged and drank the wine in one gulping sweep. He felt dizzy and a bit queasy, and realised that he'd just given away exactly how nervous he was. The trickster in him blushed with embarrassment.

"What if I can't give that to you Allan? I will be gone so long…" Marian said with a tone that was soft and strangely detached. She had already put up an emotional wall between herself and this decision, forcing herself to be rational as she had done so many times before.

"Look, I will do it anyway," Allan said and gave her one of his innocent a-Dale looks. "It would be a nice bonus that's all."

"As opposed to the usual bonus of pain and misery," Marian mumbled bitterly. "Yes," She took a deep breath and let out a resigned sigh. "We do it, I will… It is the best way. I need to disappear… So help me God."

"You want my help?" Allan said to make sure he got everything right.

"Yes, I do… Will you help me?"

"Not being funny but I said I would didn't I?"

"Glad to hear you're a man of your word," she snorted with a sarcastically raised eyebrow. "I would like to be alone now if you don't mind…"

"Sure… I'll just go sleep on the job then. Next time we meet, I'm not me, alright?" Allan grinned and left the room with a little half-bow in her general direction. When he came to the door he halted for a moment, turning to her with his hand on the doorknob and a knowing smirk in his face. "And oh by the way," he added mischievously. "If Robin comes… keep it down will you?" He winked at her and disappeared out into the corridor before she had time to throw anything hard at him.

Marian stood for a while and watched the place where Allan had been standing, her heart beating nervously in her chest.

"What have I done?" she mumbled to herself and paced over to the window with her arms folded as if she was cold, even though the shudders that ran trough her body had very little to do with the weather. "What am I about to do… God forgive me…" There was still a half-eaten plum on the windowsill and she took it between her fingers, pushing the window shutters open and plunged the fruit into the air. It floated for a while, spinning in a graceful arch against the blue sky, and then lost height and fell helplessly to the caste yard. You could live free and die fast, but such a vain dream it was when gravity would take its toll in the end. She sighed and closed the window, trapping a green curtain between the shutter and the frame, and went to rest in the soft, warm bed of her comfortable prison.


	9. Chapter 9

**So here is the T-rated version of this chapter. It is not the most well written of my chapters unfortunately, I was really tired, but the general thought behind it is rather good I think. The M-rated version is completely different but the result is pretty much the same.**

**Thanks for all the comments! I really, really appreciate them!**

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Chapter 9: 

Consequenses

It was a well-known secret in Nottingham town that Sheriff Vaysey cherished his beauty sleep. Thus the castle lay like a silent, slumbering ghost on this blue night, as it always did, the few people still awake trembling not to disturb the fine balance. Harmony was a tense state in this sorrowful city, perched up on a knife-edge like one of the sheriff's birds hovering in their cages. But while the birds kept slumbering as long as the gilded bars were draped with a dark piece of cloth, the castle was a light sleeper and woke very easily. Yet the castle slept unaware this night, never knowing that there were winds blowing right past the thick stone walls. In the worst of times winds can tear down castles, but these were merely winds of fate that shuffled lives together and made paths cross in tragedy. So the castle slept, but there were figures awake in the city. There was a guard on the yard, a boy in a house, a lady in distress and a trickster in doubt. And as the winds blew, they would all feel the breeze.

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On this night a guard called Nikolas Irons was guarding Nottingham caste yard. A careful man as he was he moved over the courtyard as though it was made of glass, painfully aware of the fact that every tiny sound he made bounced off the walls and multiplied like bunnies in spring. Even though it is sold to the world as being exciting, guarding is in fact a rather tedious and slightly hypnotic line of work. Either you hang around wall or a door that needs guarding, or you slowly stroll from one point to another, and then back again, in order to guard a bigger area. The new guards tended to be keen and look for things happening but that was generally considered a newbie mistake that you would eventually overcome.

The bottom-line was that sheriff had a very equal minded view on hangings. He didn't care much if the one that dangled was the same person that actually committed a certain crime, since, in the end, everyone was guilty of something. This was especially true in Nottingham, where Vaysey had made sure that there were a massive stack of laws that he could pull out just in case the perpetrator maintained the annoying habit of being innocent. The populous still remembered a certain Penny-Jenny at the washhouse (they were called so because they were cheep labour and never stayed long enough for anyone to really tell them apart from one another). She had been trialled and subsequently hanged for not colour-coordinating the sheets on the washing lines. The infamous 'act of homogenous aesthetics' was only one of the many laws that were vague enough to be impossible to follow, and therefore no one really tried. It was impossible to be safe from the law in Nottingham, and hence everyone did the best they could to simply not anger Vaysey at all. It was especially true for guards like Nickolas. They didn't want anything to happen on their guard since it would be likely to get them into trouble, and that wish was strong enough for them to only ever act if they had to or felt sure that it would end well.

Consequently, as Nickolas saw the dark figure moving against the castle wall climbing into a window with clumsy and a bit drunken movements, he quickly made a choice. _He_ was only guarding the castle yard after all, and the figure wasn't on the yard _as such_. The fact that Nickolas had his eyes aimed at the particular window where two legs now dangled like the forked tongue of a reptile was merely a coincidence. He could just as well have been watching the moon. In fact, Nickolas decided, that was exactly what he was doing. With a very decisive turn of his neck Nickolas let his gaze rest on the pallid circle spreading a dim light over the sleeping city. It was ivory white and spotted with darker shadows, the kind of moon that wolves howled at, nearly round but a bit squished on the edge facing the castle. But there were clouds were moving swiftly over the sky on this night, narrowing in on moon, and then Nickolas felt the first drops of rain hitting his wide open eyes. One should not be gazing to the sky when it was raining.

In the corner of Nickolas' eye a little inner guard saw the two legs disappear into the castle, and then a dark arm reached out to gently pull the window shut behind them. Nickolas made a mental note of the event and decided to ignore it. Then he continued the night's work as if nothing much had happened, and the winds of fate gave him a shrug and blew right past him.

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On this night a boy called Tommy was sitting by the fading fireplace in his father's house. He was a shy boy who kept to himself, always two eyes on the street as if the world was a monster he dared not face. But the monster in Tommy's life wasn't the sleeping city, nor was it wasn't the other kids that avoided him and whispered unkind words behind his back. No if there were such a thing as a monster, then it was the man who sat in the chair beside him. Tommy's father had been a successful tradesman once, the big round face jolly and the little eyes sharp. When he laughed the big belly danced as a pudding, but not even back when Tommy's mother was alive had his father been a kind man. And now, as it was only him and the boy and the jolly face had become spongy and swollen, he only ever interacted with the Tommy through shouting or the edge of a fire poker.

Tommy did his best to avoid getting in the way. He was a tiny boy; ash blonde with legs had been bent from lack of calcium in his diet. When his father told him to sleep, he slept. When his father told him to go buy him a pint in the tavern across the road he did even if he had to beg for the money. If his father said 'jump', Tommy said 'how high?', but somehow he always ended up with bruises anyway.

It was raining heavily over Nottingham now, the moon a mere suggestion behind the thick clouds. Tommy sat crouched by the fire as his father stared into the flames. The boy did not dare to speak or move, instead he simply curled up and made himself small. Then he felt a blow to the back on his head and he was plunged forward into the wall through the force.

"Tommy!" his father growled. "Go across the street and get your dad a pint."

Tommy scrambled to his feet and walked the walk of a subdued dog over to the table where a couple of copper coins lay. This old wooden mug that held the little family's entire fortune and there was never any money. He could hear his father mumbling _lazy sod just like his mam that brat_, and felt his shoulders sink some more. Then he walked out into the rainy Nottingham night to be struck down by the dire winds of fate.

----

On this night a trickster, dressed in a cloak and hidden behind a mask, climbed into the window of a fallen noble woman. Marian had not expected for Allan to fall in through the window. She hadn't expected him to be drunk either. As the dark blonde head popped up on the other side of her window shutters Marian flinched and gave out a low whimper from the shock. Then she watched with a frown that slowly melted into an amused grin as Allan managed to get the window open with considerable effort, heaved himself up and then lay dangling with his stomach pressed to the windowsill.

"'elp," he whined.

"Elp?" Marian cocked her eyebrow.

"Help!"

Allan struggled to reach the floor with his arms, tipped over with a pained 'ouch' as he soon regretted the change of weight distribution and gave a fleeting thought to the prospect of never having any children of his own after this. He started to wiggle himself forward and sensed his arms giving away under him. Marian went up with a sigh, gripped his clothes and plunged him into the room with a loud thud before she pulled the window shut behind him.

"Oi, thanks," Allan said with a grin from his position on the floor. He turned around and tried to make himself comfortable sitting leaned against the wall. "Not being fun but… no wait… not being fan…_funny_…"

"You're drunk!" Allan gave Marian an innocent and a bit wounded look, like a puppy being chastised for staining the carpet.

"You think this is drunk?" Allan said. "Nah, this isn't drunk. I needed a little something you know… nerves and all." He gave the room a quick scan. "Talking about… that… You don't 'ave any castle wino by any chance?"

"Allan you can't be drunk now! Get up!"

"I'm fine down here."

"Get up! I need to see how drunk you are!"

Allan grunted and scrambled to his feet, threw out his arms and did a little turn for her. "See?" he said. "Nothing to it!"

Marian studied him. Sure, he wobbled a little like Christmas pudding but he seemed fairly focused considering the situation. Above all he was calm, and as much as Marian hated to admit it, 'calm' might be exactly what she was lacking.

"Fine," she hissed. "It's not like we have any choice now anyway." She sighed and rubbed her forehead. "Why did you come through the window?!"

"Yeah well it goes with the character," Allan said. "Can't have the Nightwatchman strolling down the corridors now can we? People would notice!"

"Allan I think people might have noticed this as well."

"Nah… Anyway it was Nick patrolling the yard. He's been 'ere for months, he knows the drill."

"The drill?"

"'Don't get involved'," Allan grinned.

Allan gave Marian a cheeky grin that was only partly dulled by her ice cold glare. As she felt the trickster fumble with the ropes and get her hair caught when he knotted the gag around her head, one thought screamed higher than everything else: This was going to be the worst night of her life. Then they made their way out of the window and the winds of fate toyed a little with Allan's coat, before they formed a hurricane and the two odd partners in crime rested for the moment in the eye of the storm.

----

Little did Marian know how right she in fact was in her fears, and little did she know how the winds of fate were getting ready to tear the world apart. For years to come, people involved in this story would have chills running down their spines by the mere thought of this wonderful blue night that turned out so dire, so dreadful, so tragic… It would bring a shadow over every conversation, accompanied by a tense silence and sooner or later the words 'let us not think about_ that_ now'. Whatever mistakes that led up to this, whatever turns in the road that could have been avoided, would be forever agonized over.

There is a lot of time to think when one is climbing out of a castle. Hands and feet are well occupied, clinging to the rough stones and struggling to remain unbroken, but ones head is really only present as a bonus. Even though kidnapping someone down a very steep wall is challenging even in sober condition, it may come as something of a surprise that the very sane thought 'Oh Lord I am going to die' was only randomly present in Marian and Allan's minds. There were other things that occupied their thoughts.

Allan was a man in doubt. It had dawned on him during the day that Robin wouldn't thank him for this. In fact, it seemed rather plausible that he would blame him for loosing his love and want to kill him if he found out. Will would give him an accusing stare and shake his head. Little John would point out that he did not like him. Much would… oh never mind. But Djaq… Djaq would understand his actions and she would simply look sad, because in spite of all good intentions the mess was deeper now. And that was even worse. He was used to people wanting to kill him, but he was not used to being loved. As strange as it was it turned out to be a much more painful experience. He would disappoint her. The only person in the world that he was scared sick of disappointing was ironically also the only one who believed in him enough to actually be thus affected.

He had been drinking during the day to calm his nerves and get some sort of distance to it all. Perhaps a pint could make the prospects seem brighter, not that it usually worked like that but it had seemed to be worth a try. But as the world got distorted and a bit absurd, as if it was covered by a thin veil muffling all impressions and thoughts, the alcohol merely amplified the hopelessness of the situation. He tried to imagine scenarios where this all worked out well. Marian found her way to some nice convent, had one of those rosy healthy kids with hair the colour of the moon, came back and had a feast with Allan as the guest of honour. They made him godfather of the little sod of course, had a wedding… a double wedding… or whatever Saracens did. Djaq had flowers in her hair. She laughed. He always imagined her laughing. And then Will would be best man, a bit coy but happy to be chosen, and he would hold a fumbling speech… 'To Allan-a-Dale' he said and raised his glass 'Sovereign of Sherwood and ultimate proof that all men can redeem themselves. I love him as a brother'. _To Allan_. Cheers! The Robin gave him a thump on the back and asked him for forgiveness…

Out loud Allan mumbled 'nah no hard feelings'. Then he had realised that he was sitting on The Black sheep and that smell that had been tugging on his senses for some time was in fact coming from Lot Twittle, who sat with his hand on Allan's back and gave out a loud, slurry 'cheers' for his favourite beer-buddy. It was only a dream, one that would not come true. Djaq had no flowers in her hair and she did not smile. Will didn't hold a speech for him and that look he used to have once upon a time, back when he saw Allan as some sort of brotherly role-model, was long dead. Robin wouldn't ask him for forgiveness. In fact, the child who currently made Marian's tummy twist probably wouldn't even be all that rosy and moon-haired. It would be feeble from its mother's sorrow and troubles and swiftly handled over to some severe Mother Superia who'd raise the poor kid as an 'unfortunate'. Even if Robin forgave Marian for this it would build a wall between them a secrets always do. Shared hardships can strengthen a relationship but Marian would go trough hers on her own.

Marian knew this as well. Her way down the Nottingham castle wall consisted of a focused effort not to think at all since every thought that hit her hurt as another dagger in her abdomen. The memories hurt. The look on Robin's face as she came back from the dead, the tears of relief, the feeling of his heart beating with pure joy under her palm as they rode off from her almost-wedding… She wasn't sure what hurt the most, knowing how she would miss him or how much this all would hurt him. The child, _their_ child, the result of _their_ love. She knew even now, even though it was really nothing but a lingering nausea and the knowledge of its presence, that she might never love anything as fiercely as she would love this child. Yet she was about to abandon the father, give birth to it in secret and give it away. Everything that she loved she left behind. Everything. Her body was pressed to Allan-a-Dale's strange shapes and it struck her how different people feel. He had two arms and two legs, a head and probably most other parts that Robin had as well, but he felt as alien as if he came from a different species altogether. He smelled wrong, his limbs were too hard or too soft, too long or too short. He was the wrong man. She wanted Robin.

As they finally hit the ground clouds had covered the pale moon and a hard rain was falling. Marian thought it was a blessing because no one would see her cry. Allan thought it was a curse because the horse had escaped and he had to go looking for it. It was wet and slippery and it felt so much like a farce. It struck Allan that if anyone was watching them he would come across as a clown, that jester who gave a little comic relief to a religious mystery play. He was a drunken fool who practically fell into the damsel's chamber, then lost his horse as the lady he was kidnapping stood impatiently waiting under a shelter. He imagined her eye-balling him and tapping her foot. It never occurred to him that she might be crying.

So it was. A heroic escape, a crime or a farce. On this night paths were crossed due to a series of circumstances, because fate is a blind captain and steers the lives of men and women by chance alone. We fall into the lives we lead blind as bats trying out best to remain in control, while the world does its best to take it away from us. Who knows what stories we leave behind? Like steps in the sand, a guard watching the moon, two partners in crime climbing down a castle wall, a boy out in the night to bring his father a pint. From time to time the roads cross, if only for a moment. And then the winds of fate made their final blow.

---

On this night rain was pouring down. Allan could feel it under his clothes, the damp cloth over his mouth was soaking wet and the stupid mask had been made for Marian and pinched his nose. He had her in front of him, her hands tied behind her back and pressing awkwardly to places that both pretended they didn't touch at all, in a kind of silent understanding. No need to make this _embarrassing_ after all. He could feel how tense she was, pressing her thighs to the horse in order not to fall, and he held one arm around her stomach. Partners in crime, that was what they were to each other, but in this perilous situation they had been joined by their shared struggles. It struck him that the cheap saddle felt slippery now that it was wet and hoped that she had good balance because he sure didn't.

Allan didn't really see anything. He could feel the horse moving, hooves slipping in the mud, the strong muscles tense and nervous. He wouldn't normally ride a horse this edgy, he would have stepped down and tried to calm it, but this was no good situation for that. There were holes for his eyes but the little he could see through them was dark and wet. The world was dark and wet. With a growing feeling of panic Allan realised that he was blind as a bat.

"Look you have to be my eyes," he said to Marian, trying to cover up the panic in his tone. He realised that she was twisting and squirming and pulled down her gag. No real need for it anyway, they would be nothing but dark shapes in this weather.

"What you can't see?!" she exclaimed.

"Sure I can, don't worry… A bit dark that's all… and wet. It's a bit wet isn't it?"

"Straight ahead for now," Marian shouted through the rain.

Days later Allan would find out what actually happened on that muddy Nottingham street through gossip. He would hear that a child called Tommy was running to the ale house to get a pint for his father. It was a dark and wet night and the child should have been asleep, but you had to do what daddy said or there would be repercussions. He knew as much. Children with constant bruises on their skin knows not to argue with grown ups. So the child ran, and as children often do he didn't watch where he was running. Or rather, he didn't watch the sides, since his face was set on straight ahead and there weren't really any traffic at this hour anyway. He didn't see the horse until the horse saw him and by then it was too late. The horse reared, a huge animal rising up over the boy who shielded himself with the little feeble arms, then the hove knocked him over the shoulder and he was plunged into the wall. The stories said his arm would never be the same, the poor little thing, crushed as an egg. After the horse had left he'd staggered over the street to the ale house, his arm hanging limp by his side, put some copper coins on the counter and asked for a pint. A child with constant bruises on his skin knows to fulfil his duty.

It was a certain irony in the fact that a child became their downfall. Children seemed to be all over this story. But there and then all Allan knew was that something pushed the horse over the edge. He knew the exact moment that he lost the last of his control over the animal. It was the moment exactly before it reared and Allan had to cling to the animal, pressing Marian down under him. He could feel himself slipping, her weight shifting so that she practically rested on him rather that the horse, and then the animal put down his hooves again and started to panic.

The horse raced over the muddy streets, slipping and struggling now to fall, and Allan did his best to hold on. He could feel Marian's hands wiggling to be free from the ropes but there was nothing he could do to help her, both hands firmly clutched around the reins. Then they came to a slope in the street and the race came to a halt in the worst way possible. Allan would never forget the feeling of the animal disappearing in front of him, the front legs bending and then the entire force of the race was put into their fall. He had his hands. He could hold on and steer his body so that it fell to the side. But Marian couldn't. It wasn't until he lay in the mud that he realised that she had disappeared. The horse screamed. The rain plunged down on the roofs and streets. And someone cried. He tore the stupid mask off and tried to see her, scanned the area for any sign of her green coat. When he finally found her she was down the sloop and a bit further ahead still. She had her hands clutched around her body and was crying, squirming in the mud.

"Marian!" he yelled.

"Allan…" she grabbed hold of his coat and looked up through the rain, eyes coated with a barely subdued panic. "Something is wrong, it hurts so much, something is broken. _Something is broken_. Inside, the child…"

"It's okay," he tried to comfort her. "It will be fine, alright? You will be fine."

But her face had gone pale and he eyes a bit dazed, and then she collapsed helplessly into his arms.

----

There was a wind that night. It saw Tommy's shoulder get crushed and Nickolas' eyes stray from their duty. It saw Marian fall so hard and Allan start carrying the half-conscious woman into some sort of vain illusion safety. It saw all this happen but didn't care. Instead it simply blew away, knocked down a number of roof tiles on tradesman Barber's house and killed two of his wife's chickens. The world continued turning and the castle didn't wake until the morning.


	10. Chapter 10

**So this is chapter 10. The difference between this T-rated version and the M-rated version in mainly in the first one or two flashbacks.**

**Thanx a lot for all the comments! I'm sort of going trough hell atm so I do appreciate every little sign that I might do anything at all right in this life. ;)  
**

**Love /Trix **

* * *

Chapter 10:

To fall or rise

It was so late that it was early or so early that it was late when Allan felt the horse's hooves throwing up turfs of fine Sherwood soil under him. The sound of little birds, sitting in clusters or joyful solitude on the ancient branches was loud in the otherwise alien silence. He had gotten used to the city, the sound and smell of people all around, and this was no longer his world. Allan-a-Dale was no sovereign of Sherwood. These days the sound of the birds reminded him of sheriff Vaysey's study, but the sound was different here. The space was bigger, the distances between the birds longer, and it made the singing seem deeper and richer. The sensation of the forest's mere size echoed through the light-hearted singing, and it felt eerie and a bit frightening to Allan who was used to confined spaces.

The light was fresh and soft this early in the morning, the air crisp. It had been raining heavily and the ground was still damp and smelled muskier than when it was dry, the earthy scent mixed with the smells from the green foliage. There were droplets hanging from the leaves, falling gently to the ground as gravity took its toll, and from time to time Allan brushed by a branch that showered him with tiny wet beads of chilly rainwater. The setting was beautiful; Sherwood Forest sparkled in her morning gown, newly washed with veils of fog still hugging around the tree trunks. And it seemed cruel, immensely cruel, that the world just didn't care about the pain despair in Allan as he darted through the wood.

He wanted to scream to the stupid birds to shut up, but the tweeters and chirps continued to haunt him and made an absurd background to the memories of the night.

_The rain was falling so hard that the drops hurt against Allan's face. His feet had sunk down into the mud and the Nightwatchman's mask lay discarded, lonely and sad next to its fallen owner. A face to take on and take off, like any face Allan had ever worn. Now it seemed almost symbolic that Marian's mask, her freedom to act while remaining in an illusionary prison, was an empty ghost covered in grime. He felt her heavy in his arms, his hands under her shoulders in an attempt to keep her head from following the rest of her body down into the gutter. She should not be lying like this, she was a noblewoman and she shouldn't be slipping down into the same filth that had held so many fallen boozers during the small hours. There was no pride in the way her petticoat was soaked in muddy rainwater, the normally so beautiful brown curls a wet tangled mess on her head. She, who always stood so tall and stood her ground didn't stand at all. He reached down to pick up the mask, somehow feeling it was important to save it, and wiped it off against his wet cloak._

_Marian seemed to stir a bit and he shook her gently. "Oi," he said. "Wha' happened? You alright? Maz?" _

_She looked at him, clutching the dress in her hands and pressing them to her stomach while she rocked gently back and forth. _

"_Hey! Are you alright?" Allan repeated. "You need to rest a bit? A pint… Some food… My bed…"_

_Marian managed to give him a sharp glare and Allan grinned at her._

"_Look, you'd be alone in my bed obviously," he continued, and saw her head bend down. She nodded. And that was the exact moment that Allan knew something was seriously wrong. She shouldn't nod. Fainting, that was fine. Noblewomen fainted from time to time, it was only natural. But nodding instead of chastising him? Be exhausted and agree when he expected her to sneer? _

"_Is it the baby?" he said and she nodded again. "Does it hurt?"_

"_I think…" she said in a feeble, trembling voice. "It's…I don't know… Allan!"_

"_It's alright, calm down." It frightened him to see her like this, so afraid and vulnerable. He was not good at caring for people, he felt uneasy when people depended on him and in this situation he felt completely useless. A stranger would be better, and for a moment he even contemplated simply handling her over to some kind townspeople together with enough silver to pay for her care. But that would be wrong, unforgivable in Djaq's eyes and thus impossible to live with. It was the kind of coward's solution that forced you to run away and keep running until you were too exhausted to hear your own guilt screaming. He took a firm grip around her waist and tried to get Marian to her feet._

"_Oi there is blood on your hand!" he exclaimed before he gave the matter much thought. There was indeed blood on her hand, a faint impression as if she had been clutching a piece of soaked cloth. _

"_Of course there is! I bleed," she sneered and gave out a sharp gasp of pain as her body unfolded and straightened up._

"_But that is fine isn't it? It's just the… the… mini-robin making his exodus…Right?" _

_Marian shook her head violently. "There is too much, I'm sure of it. Listen, we need to get to that tavern. I need to lie down…" _

"_Right," Allan said, and then his normally so sly mind went blank. _

They had been wasting time! As Allan continued to spur on the horse through the forest that was what plagued him the most. At every single choice he had to make he had doubted. How do you choose a path when all seems equally bad?! He had been sitting in the gutter with Marian as the rain continued to pour down over the city and the different choices lined up in his head. Go back to the castle with her. Take her to The Black Sheep. Leave her here and go for help. Take her to that physician on Tradesman Street. Even as he picked her up he had doubted, walking with her leaning heavily against him, her muddy clothes soaked and heavy. She didn't speak but he could hear that she was in pain. It was in the way she moaned when he walked too fast for her, he could hear it in the strained breathing and feel it in her tense body.

The horse leaped over a fallen tree trunk and Allan started to regret his choice of route. This forest was wild and savage off the beaten track, admittedly much to the advantage of those hiding in it, but it made his panicking race erratic and perilous. Time. There wasn't enough! But would it have been enough had he done everything right? Had it really mattered if he hadn't stopped to talk with Lot at The Black Sheep? He had been so confused by then, filled with adrenaline from the fear that the consequences of helping Marian might be both her demise and his.

"_Oi, oi…Oi, Allan! O'er here! Getting 'lucky' tonight mate?"_

_Allan let his eyes flicker around the room. This was Black Sheep alright, dark and crowded with people drunk beyond sanity on this late hour. It smelled of smoke from the fireplace mixed with the putrid stench of old drunkenness and wet wool. And there was Lot Twittle in his usual corner, accompanied by some new friends to suck on to like a leach. It was all so ordinary and expected, yet that was exactly what made it feel so utterly alien. It didn't seem right that the world was behaving normal in a time like this, and it made Allan feel bewildered and confused. Marian's weight was heavy against him though she seemed to have drifted off again, and clung to him rather like a baby grips around anything put in its palm. _

"_Wha'?" he said to Lot's question, aware that the man spoke but shut the actual meaning of the words out. Jess Littlelamb was nowhere to be seen. _

"_Schesch a looker her," Lot continued and grinned at the pale, exhausted Marian. "A dunk looker, ay that's the beschtescht kind. You schink she'd conschider seconds?" _

"_Wha'?!" Allan exclaimed again, a bit absentmindedly. He had a vague comprehension of what Lot was talking about but was to busy scanning the room for its owner to give him much attention. Too much people. Some had stopped their conversation and let their concentration be sucked up by Lot's shouting. He was an amusing oddity and made them all feel sober in comparison, thus working as some sort of lowest point. If you sunk beyond him you really needed to go home, but as long as you stayed above him you could always say that there were other people there much worse off. _

"_Well ya know," Lot rambled on. "Tisch been a while… A bloke like me, me poor ol' Lot… Mates share, that's all I'm schaying… mate." Allan suddenly turned to him and realised that the boozer had the greedy, lustful look he usually reserved for the first free pint of the evening. _

"_Listen," Allan restrained himself from the urge to drop Marian and smash Lot Twittle's head against the wall. "Back off or I'll knock out that lonely tooth in your face alright? Not that you need it," he scoffed, "being on a strictly fluid diet…Now where is Jess?" _

"_Jesch?" Lot peered at him, as usually rather impressively unmoved by the scorn and plain threats thrown at him. "So one isn't 'nuff huh? My mate Allan-a-Dale… Schtud," he grinned. "Rumours 'ave it you schwinging the other way you know…Schiwng, schwing…"_

"_Yeah you started those rumours!" Allan exclaimed annoyed. He had been rather amused about the tales of 'him and a boy… his cousin… kissing and stuff' in the beginning, but that kind of rumour easily gets unpleasant when it evolves from the puppy-state. Rumours are a lot like wild animals in that way. You adopt them when they are small and cute, but then they grow and evolve into huge untamed monsters with teeth as kitchen knives, and start to eat the neighbour's children. "Where is Jess!?" Allan said with a bit more force. "I need 'er! Now!!! Does anyone in 'ere know where Jess is? Look I got a lady here who needs help!" _

"_Allan?" Jess Littlelamb came out from the kitchen, then halted and took in the scene. "Lot don't bother my customers," she continued with a sort of mild authority and put away the ceramic jug she had been carrying. Lot reacted to the soft words as if they burned him and crawled away into a corner, leaving Jess to stare steadily at Allan and Marian. _

"_Look," Allan said. "It's not what it looks like alright?"_

"_It never is with you," Jess responded calmly. "Allan I will not make any questions. I will not judge or draw any conclusions. I will help you and your friend."_

_The relief flushed over Allan and he opened his mouth to pour his gratitude at her. This wasn't only his problem any longer! Someone else was involved, someone that would know what to do! For the first time since Marian fell off the horse he felt a faint hope that it might work out after all. _

"_I am not finished yet," Jess interrupted him before he had a chance to thank her. "This is not a convent, I do not sell mercy. If she stains a sheet then you replace it. Whatever is used or destroyed in any way will be paid for." Jess Littlelemb was firm when it came to matters of money since it was the only way to stay afloat in her line of work. You couldn't be kind and maintain a successful business. "And I cannot drop everything to help you. I will let my niece do the serving for a while but I will have to keep an eye on things. Are we agreed?"_

_Allan swallowed and nodded severely. This was not a time for jokes. _

"_Good," Jess said. "You are lucky business is rather slow tonight. I'll help you carry her up to your room."_

Allan had halted the racing horse, the pounding of its hooves against the ground for a moment replaced by his own thudding heart. He felt out of breath, his body exhausted and the horse in a terrible condition. The animal bent down and drank greedily from the shallow stream that Allan knew as one of the mapping points for the forest. All trees look much the same to humans, and even other trees don't feel any need to tell each other apart very often. Thus you learned to know where you were by different water accumulations, changes in vegetation and anything that was somewhat stabile and carried some characteristics. He looked around and realised that he was further south than he expected, the stream was too wide. He tugged the reins of the tired horse, knowing that the animal would get sick if he drank too much too fast in this state, and started to steer him upriver. If he was right then he would be able to reach the camp within half an hour, and the thought made him hesitate in spite of being in such a hurry. This was unknown territory, he had no way to predict what awaited him at his destination and thus the future unfolded before him as a gaping black hole. We usually have an idea where our lives are heading but Allan didn't even know where his life had been lately. The only thing he felt sure of was that this was what he had to do, and he had to do it fast. He had spurred the horse into a gallop again, and his feet were wet with the clear water from the stream splashing up in fountains as the hooves broke the calm surface.

_Allan had been standing in a corner most of the time since Jess offered to help. He felt useless in this setting, couldn't be any comfort to Marian and her body was a mystery to him even on the outside. Who knew what was behind a human's skin? There were blood for sure, and Allan had always imagined it to be much like a sponge soaked in water under the surface. The skin somehow kept it all together. Yet he had seen the inside of animals and knew that he was probably mistaken about the sponge. There were parts and objects of different shapes (and flavours, but he'd rather not consider that detail) inside, and somehow they must interact to make it all function. It was a miracle when you thought about it, something so complex only God could fully comprehend it. So what use was he? The tavern trickster._

_He saw Jess sit by Marian, gingerly examining her under the blankets. Then a sheet fell back and revealed a naked thigh, making Allan turn away with uncharacteristic respect for her virtue. He caught a glimpse of some blood smeared over the skin, no strange sight to a man used to battles but this was the blood of someone he cared for._

"_How is she?" he said in a hushed voice and both women turned to him. Marian's eyes seemed tired and a bit absent and she let her head roll back again without noting that she was, in fact, in the room as well. _

"_I have no medical training," Jess pointed out. "But there is too much blood. You should consider getting someone."_

"_Like a doctor?" Allan said. "Not being funny I don't trust them much…Neither does Lady M I reckon." _

"_Like a priest," Jess stated calmly. _

This was it, a shrubbery that he knew so well, and he dashed through it instead of letting the horse take a tiny detour to avoid the thorns. If he followed this smaller stream he would come to the pond where he first sought out Djaq, found her praying in her Saracen was and gave her the spices. The reminiscence made him smile in spite of the occasion not being particularly happy. The way her dark hair caught the sun. The first brief taste of her closeness. The odd smell of the spices that made her smile with nostalgia. He felt a moment's queasiness when he realised that it all started there, and somehow he knew he should be regretting the memory. Yet he couldn't. Whatever happened in this sordid story he couldn't regret giving happiness a chance. Happiness. That had never been a goal before. Surviving had been a goal. Prospering had been a goal. Happiness? He had always thought of that as a minor bonus to playing ones cards right. No one ever asked him '_Are you happy?_'. They asked him if he was proud of himself, or if he was satisfied. He wasn't proud. He wasn't satisfied. But for a brief moment in time he had been feeling happy.

The hooves sunk into the damp ground by the small creek and with fear making his body stiff he realised that he was nearly there…

"_Right…" Allan watched Marian. Priest. Damn it! A doctor would be preferable, and if he told Guy… No he couldn't tell Guy. He would kill Marian when he found out the reason for her condition. "Right," he said again. "Right… Well there is Djaq."_

"_Djaq?" Jess said absently as she picked up some stained sheets and put them in a basket. _

"_Yeah well… She is a doctor of sorts…"_

_Jess nodded. "Get her if you feel so inclined, but I would think it wiser to get her a priest. And is there someone she cares for? She should not be alone." The barmaid apparently knew enough about people to see that Marian and Allan were merely acquainted._

"_Robin," Allan said and nodded. "Yeah, 'im I should get… Mind you it will take some time."_

"_No!" Marian's eyes had shot open and she made an effort to wiggle herself up into a half-sitting position. "Allan, do not get Robin… Please, I beg you…" _

"_Look," Allan stated firmly. He was useless in all of this but Jess was right about one thing: Marian should not be alone. "You're weak now right? You're not thinking straight or whatever. I will get him."_

"_No…" Marian shook her head but she had sunk down onto the pillow again. The physical effort seemed to have made her exhausted, and she wept silently with her eyes aimed on something beyond this world. Then she furred her brow as if a thought hit her and turned to Allan again. "No…Yes," she said with a resigned smile. "I'm too proud. Perhaps you should get him." _

_Allan gave her a crooked grin before he dashed out from the little room, his heart in his throat as the chilly air of the small hours hugged around him. In spite of being practically outlawed by the outlaws he had to venture into Sherwood Forest._

The camp was only minutes away when Allan dismounted. There would be traps, and whatever he walked into he would prefer to be closer to the ground when it happened. He took a firm grip around his sword, then hesitated and backed a few feet again, deciding to leave all the weapons by the horse. Robin wouldn't kill an unarmed man. He felt almost certain about that. The leaves didn't rustle under his feet as he went, instead they made a wet sucking sound and he could feel his socks getting soaked through the thin leather soles. He watched the trees for any sign of the outlaws, then something tightened around his ankle and the world was turned upside down in one very swift swoop. First there was a snatching sound of a branch being released and he fell down on the damp ground, only to feel the pressure around his ankle strain even more and his foot disappeared up into the sky dragging the rest of his body with it.

It was difficult to read the outlaws' expressions as they moved in on him, his foot hurt from the rope holding his entire weight and the cloak had fallen down and draped around his head like a tablecloth.

"Is this your new doorbell?" he exclaimed and his little voice of reason gave him a resigned sigh. This was a very bad time for jokes, but he always joked when he was nervous. "Charming," he added. "Now let me down!"

"Let you down?!" Robin scoffed. "Now why would we want to do that?"

"Look, I'm unarmed, I come for a reason!"

"What reason?"

"Let me down first!" Allan tried to interpret Robin's upside-down expression, but he felt dizzy and nauseous as the rope rocked him back and forth like a windlass.

"Let him down!"

Allan felt a familiar tug in his stomach as Djaq's voice reached his ears. She was standing behind the other outlaws and he could only see a vaguely Djaq-formed shape, but there was something a bit tense and dejected about her appearance.

"He is unarmed and alone," she continued. "He will not harm us."

"Perhaps he's just bringing more spices," came Much's mocking voice.

"No spices!" Allan tried to lock his other foot around the rope to distribute his weight better but every time he moved he felt a burning pain in his ankle. "Listen Robin, it is Marian…"

"Marian?"

"I'm not saying more until you…"

There was the creaking sound of a bowstring, then Allan felt the rope give away over him and he fell down on his head with a thud. He experienced a moment's confusion when his body didn't know witch way was up in the world, then he crawled over to his side and started to rub his aching ankle.

"Don't move," Robin hissed and Allan could hear the bowstring stretch again. "What about Marian? Tell me now!"

"Yeah, yeah hold your horses," Allan mumbled. "Listen I don't want you to overreact alright…"

"Tell me!" An arrow hit the ground beside Allan's hand and he shied away from it.

"Alright, look mate. She had this… trouble. And I thought I should help you know? I meant no harm!" He looked up at the outlaws' worried faces full of dread for what was about to follow, and swallowed hard. "The thing is she was with child…And she couldn't… So we formed this plan alright? I was to kidnap her and we'd get her out of there… Somewhere safe, just 'er and the babe. And we reckoned she could just leave it once it was out and come back you know? But it was raining, and the horse… I had… I didn't see much in the rain and it was dark. I lost control! She just fell off and there was blood Robin, so much blood! Look it is not my fault! She is on the Black Shee…"

Then it all happened so fast. Allan felt a blow to his jaw and fell back with a burning pain, suddenly aware of a weight over him. Somewhere in the distance there was a shrill yell from Djaq and then a hand clenched around the buckle on his cloak making it difficult to breathe. He stared up into Robin's eyes, saw the gaping insanity gazing back at him with pure unfiltered hate and realised that his chest was pinned down by his former leader's knee. Reasoning, how did you_ reason_ with Robin when the berserk in him had taken over? The simple truth was that you didn't, not unless you were Marian and she wasn't here now. She may never be here again. Allan felt his head pound to the ground, be lifted up and plunged down again in forceful rhythmic motions like the beating of a drum. There was sky and trees bobbing back and forth behind Robin's head and somehow everything else phased out. He was vaguely aware of a woman shouting but it seemed so distant, as if it all happened to someone else. So this was it. He would be slowly smashed to death, blow by blow, in front of the woman he loved. The sky was blue now, no sign of the rain that fell so hard that night, and a bird moved between the trees, jumping from branch to branch and heaving its little chest in joyful chirping. His head hurt, the pounds came more irregular now but the fall was bigger. He had been facing death before, more times than he could count. Much's pessimism had always annoyed him because he knew that there were ways out of the direst situations, and whining never worked. He had even been hanging from a noose, air being cut off as the ground disappeared beneath his feet. Yet this time was different, because never before had he felt such a _relief_ facing his own demise. He was a man that always fought for his life however pathetic it was. There had to be a tomorrow, things couldn't end now. The prospect of not being there as a new day dawned had always frightened him, the fact that the world could go on without him. But as his head hit the ground time and again the chirping bird became a blurry shadow and the trees were merely green strokes of paint against blue sky because his eyes couldn't keep up with the speed. And he didn't try to fight it. He made himself limp and left his resignation on Lady Fortune's desk. There were too many things too impossible to face. It would be easier this way.

Then something changed. The weight was lifted and his head was left lying still in the leaves. The world seemed to be spinning above him, he felt dazed and bewildered and the rough hostile hands were exchanged for new ones. But these were soft. They caressed and stroked him gently, almost tenderly, although they seemed worried and nervous. He became aware of the voices rising around him, first Robin's harsh yelling and then a female voice right by his side.

"No!" Robin screamed. "Let me go! He needs to be hurt! I have to… Let me go!!! Don't do this! Much, Much you understand. Tell them… And Will!"

"No Robin." Allan realised that Djaq's voice was trembling and strained as if she had been crying and it was so close to him that he could feel the air move. "I will not et you!"

"But why!? Why do you defend him? He is a killer!"

"Yes! And so am I. And you! We are all killers!"

"Marian… Djaq I have to do this for Marian! And he…"

"And I love him!"

Allan could feel the tension in the air, it was heavy like lead from all unspoken words crowding the space between the outlaws. _Well that sure shut them up_, he thought and forced himself to concentrate on the scene around him. Djaq was kneeling beside him. She had a hand around his neck and the other on his chest, and she was so close that he could feel every sharp, trembling breath.

"I love him…" she repeated a bit softer, barely more than a dejected whisper from her lips, and her fingers grazed the cloth over his heart. She must feel it beat like a drum against her palm, and he hoped she realised it was his body answering back, bouncing her words between them.

"Ah," Much finally broke the silence. "Well that explains a lot… Spices? Hah! Well that should have been obvious shouldn't it? After all what does it mean when a man buys expensive trinkets to a lady? I really can't believe you lot didn't see it..."

"Much." Robin had sunk down on the ground as Little John had let go of him, the berserker finally subdued, and he shook his head sadly. "It is enough. We cannot deal with this now. Allan…"

The sound of his name made Allan forced himself up into a sitting position and Djaq's hand moved down from his neck until it rested on his back instead. She was cradling him, forming a barrier between him and the rest of the outlaws. Yet she couldn't shield out their open hostility and Will's eyes burned and tore through Allan. He loved Will. And Will hated him.

"She is at the Black Sheep, in my room," Allan said. "Look, she is in a bad state Robin… Jess is looking after her. Said to get a priest. I thought Djaq was better though."

Silence fell again while Robin's eyes locked into Allan's. They weren't hateful in this moment, merely questioning as if he didn't quite understand what Allan was trying to say. Somehow '_Marian is dying_'entered the conversation without even being spoken out loud, and Robin wanted him to take it back.

"Well," Little John said finally. "That is settled then. We go to Nottingham."


	11. Chapter 11

**At last the M- and T-rated versions of this story merge again. **

**Thanx for the comments! This story got a random POV but focuses on the Marian storyline. The next chapter will be focusing on Allan/Djaq/Will.**

**Enjoy!**

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Chapter 11:  
Fear 

_Marian is dying_.

No it had never been spoken, yet the words were filling their heads, burned on the insides of their eyelids, stinging their swollen lips. Everyone was thinking it but no one dared to voice it out loud, as if the words held a magic that made it true. Instead the outlaws hurried into town in thick stifling silence. What do you say when every thought is a question too sore and dangerous to ask? When every question is an accusation? When every accusation might shatter the world you live in, a million splinters under your skin?

They ran in regret and sorrow, and cloaked by the silence lay treacherous thoughts, then guilt and with the guilt shame. Marian might be dying and someone was to blame. Marian was dying. If you boiled down the stew of conflicting emotions one sensation alone lay naked before motley retinue: A terrified sickening Fear. The kind of Fear you write with a capital letter. A Fear so strong it is alive, a grinning monster on you back, spikes through your heart, a jaw full of knife-sharp teeth closing around your head. Fear's putrid breath made it hard to breathe, but you knew you had to so you breathed too much instead.

Robin had been here before. He knew this feeling of not getting enough air, how your body caved in and leaped out of control at the same time. It was a sensation so strong, the very essence of fear. His body told him he was dying but he wouldn't listen, ignored the pain in his chest, his fingers going numb, the mere struggle to get air past that lump in his throat. Somehow the world was too bright and every sound too loud and yet not loud enough to make sense. His mind felt dulled and slow and his heartbeats so hard and fast it almost hurt.

"Master," Much broke the silence as the walls of Nottingham appeared before them, the cursed city that looked so much like a prison under the sheriff's rule. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," Robin hissed but his voice was hoarse and strained as he forced it past the clenched teeth.

"Yes? You don't look fine. You look pale."

"Much! Be quiet!"

"Well we need to talk about it don't we! We can't just pretend everything is fine… We need o talk, we never talk."

"About what, Much?" came Robin's restrained voice as he glared at his old manservant.

"Well about… Allan said…"

"Allan said what, Much?"

"Well… Allan said… Allan said…" Much's voice trailed off as he realised that the outlaws were looking at him with every sensation between open hostility and mild irritation. "Well, never mind what Allan said. We all heard it. Is it true?"

"How should I know," Robin mumbled. His recollection of the events in the camp was rather blurred, little snippets of sounds and visions like random pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. He had been so tense when Allan was cut down from the tree that it only took the vague comprehension that Marian was in trouble and Allan might be to blame to send him over the edge. Marian. Pregnant. Blood. Not my fault. BAM! His body and mind had reacted as if Allan just admitted to having murdered Marian, and after that the world was painted in red hot rage. There had been stories about Robin in the Holy Land, stories about the gentle man who became a monster in battle, his sword a flash of silver that no one saw up close more than once. They called him a berserker, and from time to time he would not even remember the battles. There was the beginning when you saw the faces of you opponents and begged God for forgiveness, then the red chaos took over and you knew the hours passed yet only existed in the present moment. He would wake up again when the fighting ceased, see the blood on his sword and his clothes, feel the exhaustion in his muscles and wonder in a moment of bewildered confusion whatever happened during the hours that he lost. It was a side of himself that frightened him, the red rage that didn't carry any mercy and defied all moral control.

"But it could be?" Much insisted.

"What?!"

"It could be true? It wasn't… you know, Immaculate Conception?" Much laughed nervously. "That kind of thing…"

Robin gave Much a sharp look, closing the subject for any further discussion, and turned to stare at the approaching city gates.

"Ah," Much said. There was a hint of disapproval in his mind, an unusual sensation of criticism against his closest friend. It confused him since his loyalty was usually so spotless. He had made Robin's life to his own, followed him wherever he went, fought his battles and shared his joys and sorrows. A servant didn't judge his master, and even as a friend he had always remained in a somewhat subordinate position. Robin never actually forced his power upon him, yet Much choose to follow. The fact that he had a choice only made his devotion stronger, turning into something reminding of idolisation at times. Now the feeling of his own thoughts conflicting with Robin's actions made him feel guilty and painfully alone in the world. What was he if there was no Robin by his side?

Not that anyone would care. Much practically oozed the kind of kick-me attitude that made people trample all over him, then walk back an extra turn just to wipe off their feet. During their travel to the Holy Land Robin had sometimes scoffed at him for being such an easy target, but that was merely the actions of a nervous young noble man trying to win some poise. No one wants to be associated with an underdog and Much had sucked it up with the same martyrdom he showed every punch to his abused pride. At least Robin always begged for forgiveness in the evenings when no one could hear them, giving Much the biggest piece of meat to lessen the guilt. It was not malice that made young Robin take out his frustrations on Much. The young noble man had been insecure faced with those men that he looked up to like living heroes of the ancient sagas. Much could relate to that. And Robin was still, in spite of his smug demeanour, insecure in certain settings. He was insecure when it came to Marian.

_And Marian was dying_.

The Black Sheep was very nearly empty when the group walked through the main room and up the stairs around the backside. Allan's little room faced the tiny garden that Jess Littlelamb mainly seemed to use as that place in the wardrobe where you shuffle everything that you don't know where else to put. The soil was notoriously bad in this part of the town and everything you planted ended up crumpled and pathetic, and Jess had better use for her yard. You needed to be an_optimist_ to be a gardener in north Nottingham, and no one unlucky enough to live there were quite that naïve. Today ropes were tied over the little garden forming a sort of chaotic spider web where very nearly white linen sheets danced solemnly in the breeze. In a corner Jess Littlelamb's niece was standing over a big tub of steaming hot water and turned another load of laundry with the wooden shovel, her face red and sweaty by the heat and tiresome labour. Allan gave her a smile and she glared back at him for using up so much linen. There were still faint impressions of red stains on some of the sheets, and Much found himself dreading the scene that awaited them in Allan's room. Much would dread Allan's room under any circumstances simply because it was Allan's, but that would be at least partly irrational. Much had been afraid for years, afraid of everything between battles and rats and those snide French menservants, and he knew the difference between irrational fear and the bad kind. The bad kind was the one that you were right to feel. It was the kind that wouldn't yield to logic because logic simply told you that the fear was rational and healthy considering the circumstances.

This was the bad kind of fear.

Allan's room over the Black Sheep was small and untidy like a room not actually used for living. He slept and kept his things here, and thus he felt no need to keep it spotless. There was a piece of dark wool cloth over the window, shutting out whatever little light might penetrate the window shutters in case you wanted to sleep through the day. Jugs and plates took up the little table, some worm-eaten apples and a flask of something not likely to be water. A heap of clothes lay discarded on a stool in the corner and Allan gave the room a sort of excusing shrug when he showed the outlaws in. This was really only a place to sleep and the bed took up most of the space, currently occupied by a mess of twisted sheets and blankets cradling a pale young woman. Marian was conscious but she had a worn out, slightly perplexed expression, as if she didn't quite know why she was here. The world was moving too fast for her mind that was dulled by blood loss, and when she saw Robin she first looked relieved, a moment of almost childish joy, then a shadow fell over her face and she tried to shy away from him.

"Robin…" she said, her eyes blank with tears as she moved her hand to her lips. "I'm so sorry... I'm so sorry Robin… I'm sorry…"

"Sorry?" That one word… In Robin's mind Allan had worn it out and he felt like he would scream by the bare mentioning of those hollow letters. Now _she_ asked forgiveness, the one person who he could forgive anything and he couldn't understand why she had to ask him. If anything he'd wronged her! He had moved up to the bed and kneeled down by the pillow to get their eyes into level, but didn't dare touch her. The skin looked so pale and frail, as if a butterfly could crumble her to dust. "Why?" he said. "Why are you sorry? Marian don't…"

"Robin I killed your child! Your child is dead because of what I did…"

_His child_. The mentioning of the reason for her condition cut trough Robin as a knife. He felt nothing but resentment towards that child, an ice cold hate against anything that could steal her away from him again. He swallowed the rage, forced a smile and gingerly put a comforting hand on her pale forehead. "It's alright," he whispered. "Hush…" He expected her to chastise him for hushing her, but she just shut her eyes, too tired to speak. Hush. He told her to hush when he wanted to scream. Robin drew a shivering breath and looked over to Djaq.

"Djaq?" he said, posing the question with his eyes because it was too difficult to speak. _How is she?_

Djaq had climbed up onto the bed and kept a whispering conversation with Jess Littlelamb, as she carefully examined what little she could see of the damage. "It is not good Robin." She shook her head in empathy and regret for what she had to say. "And I am not skilled… I cannot do this. I know that she is losing blood but how to stop it…" She watched the pale woman before her, the female body a mystery to her, and felt a wave of helplessness. She wished so hard to help this patient, not only for Marian but for herself and for Allan. Too much was at stake for her to simple admit that she was useless here, yet that was all she could do. When you cannot help, delegate. When you cannot delegate to anyone of earth, delegate to Allah.

"But surely there must be something you can do?!" Much exclaimed. "She is bleeding… shouldn't you put a… a pad on it or something? Oh God…" He turned away as Djaq tugged a piece of linen sheet out from under Marian and saw it stained with deep red blood.

"But it is inside," Djaq said. "I'm… I'm as lost as any of you here. I cannot… If we cannot stop the bleeding then she will be dead by dawn - that much I can say." This time her knowledge of medicine could only quench their hope, not restore it.

"Dawn!?" Robin exclaimed and looked at Djaq with pure, unshielded horror. Marian's eyes shot open and stared at the Saracen. Dead by dawn was a simple fact, she could take it in. In a twisted way it made sense, the world got back at her for going against it. Be obedient and meek. Succumb to reality. Resign yourself to fate. _Dawn_. She would never see another sunrise.

Marian scanned the room and let her eyes rest on the window where a warm honey-coloured light trickled through the shutters. "It is dusk?" she said, trying to get some sort of idea regarding how far away dawn was.

"A couple of hours away still," Jess Littlelamb responded calmly.

Hours. You didn't count a life in hours. You counted it in years. Marian felt a warm, rather coarse hand against her jaw and turned to look at Robin. He trembled a little, his thumb grazing her cheek with swift almost vehement movements as if he was about to implode from the sheer mass of emotions pushing on his senses. She had seen that silent desperation in him before, his eyes so endlessly sad, and somehow it made everything more real. She had wanted to heal him, be his salvation and solace in this life, but instead she had to abandon him to his demons and worries. He needed her. Yet no love could change the fact that she had to leave him for a place from witch you did not return.

"I'm sorry…" she said again and he shook his head, wordless facing this disaster. "Don't shake your head," Marian continued. "Listen to me. I am sorry, I never meant for this to happen. I made a poor choice Robin. You have to let me ask you for forgiveness. There is so precious little time…"

The room around Marian was crowded with people. Six pair of eyes watched the scene between the couple by the bed, six lungs shared the air and made it stifling, six hearts throbbed in disharmony. In Marian's head it became one of those cribs you built for Christmas, Mary and Joseph in the middle with the entire world watching. Sheep and shepherds, the wise men, every star in heaven focused on that one scene. But while the wise men smiled this group of ragged outlaws frowned, and instead of beaming with joy Joseph cried. This crib was full of shame and guilt. She felt unattractive and embarrassed trapped under their unyielding eyes. _Look at her, what a pity really_. They weren't watching the dawn of something new, but rather the end of the world as they knew it. In that moment she hated them for watching her. What right did they have to be here? All those people staring at her nakedness and shame, feeling sorry for her. They invaded her privacy and she had never wished to die with an audience.

Robin's thumb lay still on Marian's cheek now and he followed her eyes as they flickered around the room. Then he leaned down and pressed his lips to her ear, sending a tingle down her spine. "_You want me to send them out?_" he whispered and she nodded wearily.

It would have come as a surprise to Marian that Robin seemed so calm and willing to resign to fate, had she only been her normal sly self. It would indeed be a surprise to anyone who knew Robin, realising that he now stood up in the middle of the room to tell everyone that they should leave Marian to die in peace. It would have been a surprise to Robin as well, if this had if fact been what he had in plan. As it was, however, his mind was struggling down a much more Robin-esque line of thoughts. Robin only seemed calm and resigned because he was working feverishly under the surface.

Robin licked his lips in concentration and scanned the room. There was Allan, a pathetic figure leaning casually against the wall with an impressive purple bruise decorating his left cheekbone. Will looked tense like a statue and stared at Djaq, then at Allan, then back at Djaq, and Much and Little John stood by the door as if they didn't know weather to leave or not. Jess Littlelamb and Djaq were still by the bed. They all watched Robin quizzically as he paced nervously, cocking his head then tilting it, mouth open then closed, forehead frowned and then smooth. Finally he stopped and nodded to himself before turning to Djaq.

"You say you cannot help her," Robin said. "_You_ cannot. But somewhere there is someone that can. There has to be."

"A physician perhaps?" Djaq sighed and shrugged dejectedly. "Or one of your wise women..."

"A nun!"

The room turned to look at Much.

"Well," he explained. "That monastery outside Merton. That is where they go, the poor. And the rich. Ladies in trouble…"

"Robin," Djaq shook her head. "Se has very little time. Are you sure you want to take her from this room, take her across the town, travel all that way to a group of nuns who…" Djaq stopped herself before she ended the sentence '…_ who can only tell you that Marian is dying with more certainty_'.

Robin watched Much, then Djaq, and nodded. "If that is the best option… I cannot give up, _we_ will not give up!"

"No," Little John exclaimed. "That is cruel, Robin… You have to let her go." He lowered his voice, suddenly aware that the object of the conversation was watching. "Marian would not want that. If you ask her she will not deny you anything. Don't do this to her Robin. Trust me."

"I have to," Robin mumbled, his voice thin and trembling but still determined. "I _have to_ save her."

The discussion had gradually moved away from the bed and everyone except Will stood pressed into a corner, some gesturing wildly while maintaining a hushed argument. Every now and then a word reached Marian, usually Robin's voice that became more forceful the more desperate he felt. He didn't have much of a case to argue. Most of his objections seemed to have the form of 'have to' or 'cannot', since he really only tried to impose his own irrational will on the rest of the gang. Marian sighed. She felt so tired, yet she was about to die and Robin had to live on. In this moment his feelings mattered more since they would last longer.

"We go," she said, and Will raised his eyebrow. He didn't take any part in the discussion and thus he was the only one that heard her.

"Marian said to go," he said a little louder.

The hushed argument continued undisrupted.

With a sigh Marian took a wooden jug from the bedside table and launched it to the wall with a loud thud. "I said," she said when everyone's eyes finally remained glued to her. "We go. It is my decision."

"Are you sure?" Djaq said. "It will be difficult."

It would be difficult, Marian felt sure of it, but there was a sparkle in Robin's eyes that she couldn't deny him. He had hope again, a solution to put his entire future into even though it was tiny, fickle and ultimately vain. How could she deny him that?

"I am sure," she said. "There might be a chance, and I want to take it. Robin and Much can come with me."

"Not being funny or anything," Allan said. "But shouldn't Djaq?"

"Not sure she would be welcome." Robin gave Allan a quick glance - he would have to deal with him later. "Djaq, prepare Marian for the trip. I want Little John to go back to the camp, there is still work to be done…" _The world doesn't stop, not even when it should_. "Will can go with him…"

"I stay here," Will snapped.

"Okay… As you wish. John can do it on his own. Djaq and Jess make Marian ready for the journey, Much and I will get transportation."

So it was done. Half an hour passed and Jess Littlelamb abandoned them as her ale house filled up with customers. Finally Robin gingerly scooped up Marian from the bed with the sheets and blankets wrapped around her as a cocoon and carried her down to the waiting carriage. Djaq and Much followed as Djaq gave some advice to the nervous manservant, eager to help with what little she could.

"Listen, they must not bleed her or leach her - that is important," she said. "Make sure they don't do it…"

"Yes… No… Why?" Much stammered. "Is it… will it put her fluids out of balance?"

"No, it will drain them," Djaq responded calmly.

"Drain... Oh God… Right, no bleeding no leaching, got it… Anything else?"

"Pray your God will listen. Allah be with you." Djaq put a comforting hand on Robin's arm but he shook it off and bluntly ignored her.

As the carriage disappeared down the street Djaq felt a gentle touch to her shoulder and leaned back to rest against Allan. He wiggled in his arms under her folded ones and cradled her as he lowered his mouth to her ear. '_I love you too Djaqie_' he whispered in a puff of hot air, and then there was a smile, a faint ghost of joy brushing against Djaq's Saracen lips.

From a window on the second floor Will watched the scene, and for the second time that day the world was painted in uncompromising red hot rage.


	12. Chapter 12

**Hey guys,**

**For once I will take the time to answer to my beloved commenters. **

**Stripysokz: Yes the story is rather dark is not not? I'm a huge fan of angst, terrible at fluff imho... Ty for commenting!  
**

**PIg: I love you comments, always so long and nice. ;) I think I have been a bit more careful while reading/writing chapter 11 due to the fact that I have a lot of devoted readers (not only on that I don't want to disappoint anyone. Anyway, I think Robin could feel like that towards the child due to the fact that he hadn't formed any relation to it at all. He only found out about it as Marian had lost it and was hurt. Thank you for commenting dear!  
**

**Alan and Davinia: I like AllanDjaq much more than WillDjaq too... Shame the scriptwriters don't seem to get it though... :sigh: Thanx for commenting!**

**Lay September: Alltid lika kul att få kommentarer på svenska. :-D Tack så mkt! Glad att du finner min lilla historia vacker.**

**Requiem: Wow great comment!!! Made me really happy. I love making OC:s and they have a way of returning... It's so hard to let them go. I was only going to have Jess in chapter 1 originally, but I rather like her. ;) I love Robin's warrior side. What makes this version of Robin Hood so much fun to write fics about is the fact that the characters have so much potential and layers. They're not simply good or bad. Thank you for commenting!**

**Thanxs also to Lioness and the others that have commented on earlier chapters! I love you all!**

**Now, enough ranting from the authoress. Here comes chapter 12.  
Enjoy!**

**Love,  
Trix**

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Chapter 12:

Nemesis

It is a beautiful world where mistakes are faced with forgiveness. Where love finds a way to those who deserves it the least and needs it the most, where and a man can better himself and change direction. And it is a beautiful world where you love the one you choose to love, and fate lets you be loved in return by him and only him. But the path a heart wanders is never straight and always narrow and even in the very best of worlds love is a fickle and unpredictable force.

Djaq had never wished to fall in love with Allan-a-Dale. The price was too high. She had never wished to fall in love at all. When she sat down and cut her hair by her brother's death bed she let her femininity fall with the black curls. Every expectation she ever faced in her life was replaced by pretence, her dreams and hopes discarded with the silk veil. Husband. Children. Home. One by one the curls fell to the hard clay floor. Safiya cried by the cruelty, but in the same time something else spawned in her chest. _Freedom_. While life as she knew it held everything she ever dared to wish for, breaking it down left her with a fluttering feeling of relief that surprised her and made her feel a pang of guilt. She was a spoiled woman to have been showered with such loving attention that was rare for her gender, and yet not have the decency to appreciate her life. Her veil was a shackle. She burned everything she ever cooked. Women's talk bored her.

To choose a path beyond the beaten track is to be eternally in limbo. It is dangerous yet filled with opportunities, and one must not be afraid of vertigo. Djaq had no social laws to guide her through the life she led, and in that she was forever lonely. The equation that was her world was difficult enough without love to complicate things. She had mentally prepared herself for a life in solitude, and then came this. Allan-a-Dale. The man who did everything wrong, even when he acted with the very best intentions. The one who thought stumbling blindly through life was a fair enough option as long as you got anywhere. The one who had excuses for everything, a tale for every occasion. Who lied with such ease and so often that he got lost in the maze of half-truths, distorted realities and plain deception. She sometimes wondered if he knew himself the depth of his mistakes, what it did to those who cared for him. It seemed so aimless, a purposeless life gone astray. He hid his pain behind a smile and a joke, and when he failed to charm his way out of a tricky situation he did what he had to. Sometimes he ran. Sometimes he lied. Sometimes he betrayed everything that he was. In the world of Allan-a-Dale that didn't seem so bad; he wasn't all that much anyway.

It is always a problem to love a man who doesn't love himself. To believe in someone who doesn't believe in himself. To trust in someone who himself trusts in no one. She had to love for two, believe for two, trust enough for two people. He expected her to save him because he couldn't save himself, and it was her curse to love him too much to not be able to turn away. Instead he dragged her down with him and he was notoriously bad at predicting the consequences of his actions.

She could still feel Allan's arms around her as the cart with Marian disappeared down the street. This might be all that remained of her life. Allan-a-Dale. Her world. She had been left with the choice of watching him fall in solitude or jump after in a vain attempt to help him rise. So she jumped. In spite of her better judgement. In spite of always priding herself in being logical and collected. In spite of the price she knew she'd have to pay, she jumped. Now they were in this together, walking through the hell that Allan had shrugged and lied and stumbled his way into.

Djaq shut her eyes and tried not to sigh. Moments went past and there was nothing but Allan's breathing and the heat from his body close to hers. Finally she felt him tense and he let go of her, moving his hand up to her shoulder to shuffle her back into the shadows behind him.

"Guy," he hissed and nodded down the street. "Wait in my room alright. I'll deal with 'im."

Djaq hesitated for a while, then turned her back to Allan and decided to do as he asked. Following orders was the easiest thing in the world after all, a simple denial of the self and the freedom that comes with not having to make a choice. She went through the smoky main room of the ale house, nodded absently at Jess Littlelamb and shut out the slurred comments from the drunken guests as she passed. Her steps were heavy and tired up the stairs. She didn't like sending Marian travelling when she was so unwell. She didn't like leaving Allan on the street to wiggle his way out of another sticky conversation with Guy. And she certainly didn't like to face Will's reaction to the recent events on her own. Yet she had to do all those things because that was the reality of this day.

Will was standing by the window as she made her way into the room. In the back yard Jess's niece was hanging another load of newly washed linen to dry and Will stared at her silent, effective labour, hands that moved swiftly over chores that were as natural to her as breathing. When Djaq entered he turned to her, greeting the Saracen woman with a cold, detached glare. A couple of cautious moments passed between them in awkward silence before the young man chose to speak.

"So," Will stretched his lips into a heartless smile. "You and Allan."

"Yes," Djaq agreed warily. She did not like the way Will looked, his face a picture of stifling bitterness and his movements tense and restrained. He nodded dejectedly and gave out a hoarse laughter as he grabbed a worm-eaten apple from the table.

"Good, looks like he needs a housewife..." He mumbled and turned to watch the dishevelled bed where the sheets still had some deep red stains. "Tell me_ Djaq_," he scoffed in a scarily light voice. "Did you bleed in this bed as well?"

"Will…"

"… Not? Well he must do something right I guess… I have to say it was rather unexpected. I thought higher of you, I really did... Tell me did you laugh at me in this room? Will, the fool, he doesn't have a clue…"

"Please don't do this Will!"

"Why?!" Will yelled and took a swift step towards Djaq. "Why?! Why _don't do this Will_? Why not don't do this Djaq? Why not don't be a fool Djaq!? You are the fool are you not? You made the mistake…"

"It is not so simple…" _Is it not?_ The memory of two warm arms cradling her in the street and some whispered words that made her smile and smile came to Djaq's mind. It had seemed simple enough only minutes ago, not a mistake but a sensation that wouldn't be neglected.

"Listen to yourself!" Will snorted. "You even sound like him…"

Will went over to the window, a bitter smile lingering on his lips as he got lost in his own vengeful thoughts. Djaq watched him guardedly, saw the tension build up under the surface as he clenched his hand so hard the knuckles went white. Then he turned towards her and his eyes stared at the Saracen woman with so much resentment it made her flinch and shy away as if he had punched her. He opened his mouth and breathed heavily as he searched frantically for the right words.

"Allan-a-Dale," he finally scoffed. "Everything, _everything_, he touches dies or withers and now he has touched you!!!" He spat out the words at her. Hard, accusing words, words intended to hurt, to do as much damage as possible. Djaq shut her eyes, wishing she was a child who stills believed the person before her disappears when you can't see him, but she knew that wasn't true. She felt nauseous, angry, upset, pitiful… In a moment of despair she found herself wishing she hadn't hurt him, longed after a reality where it was he that she loved simply because it would have been so much simpler. Then in the next moment she was taken aback by a sudden change in her temper as she hated him for being so very cruel. With a sigh she swallowed the rage she felt over the words he spoke about Allan, told herself that it was pain talking and pain was never rational.

"Robin told me to keep an eye on you…" Will hissed, his voice trembling from subdued tears and fury. "Little did he know what he did… Little did he know how much I _love_ you and how much I hate Allan! Your lover, _your lover_ Djaq! What do you see in him? A traitor, _Djaq_, he betrayed us all! Me, silly little Will Scarlett, I followed all the rules… I did everything right. I respected you, cared for you, I listened when you cried… Don't give me that look - I would have listened had you been wise enough to cry in front of me. Problems can be overcome if you acknowledge them but you chose to hide them and cave in to this… to this… _lust_. I never stole a penny that belonged to the poor, people starve and he betrays everyone for a few pennies! All that… All that Djaq, and you still loved him more… You will always love him more!!!"

Djaq swallowed back the tears. What could she say? Nothing she said could ever make things easy for him. Sure she could chose to pretend; be the carpenter's wife, have his children, share his bed… Live a comfortable lie as so many had done before her, and it would be a good life but she would always know. She wasn't Allan-a-Dale - she couldn't believe her own lies so much that they became true. It was a cold fact that she loved this boy, but only as a brother and a friend. There were no good reasons, no logic in this to make him see sense. There was no sense. She loved Allan because she loved him. Because love is its own reason and cause. God knows she had cursed the feelings at times and prayed to Allah to make them go away. Yet they stayed, and grew in his absence as well as in his presence.

"Yes," she finally said with a dejected, remorseful look in her face. "I love him more… I'm sorry."

"Sorry is just a word…" Will burst out. "It means less than the breath it takes to utter it."

"That is not true!"

"No? How many times did Allan say he's sorry before he had you fooled? Tell me, when he betrays you for a serving wench will you forgive him then? What about when he comes home in the middle of the night dunk beyond his wits? Or when he wastes all your money on gambling… or women… or ale?"

"Allan would not do that."

Will snorted. "He'd sell his soul for a handful coins! I wonder if he counts your value in copper or silver… What do you think?" He stared at her with that cold smile still curving his lips into a disgusted scowl.

"Silver," Djaq murmured in a resigned sigh. She was so sick of this. Will's words hurt because they carried grains of reality and yet she couldn't believe Allan to be that bad. To love someone is to choose to trust in him, and she trusted in Allan even though she knew him to be flawed, sometimes even _because_ she knew him to be flawed.

"Would you deny then that I'm the better man?" Will frowned in an atypical fit of self-assertion. He was a young man trying to make sense out of a senseless reality, and every attempt to compare himself to Allan ended with the highest score to Will himself. So how did Allan win? When Will held every battle in his palm, when he had the better resources, the bigger force, stronger and more skilful?

Djaq nodded at him and smiled sadly. "You are the better man," she acknowledged wearily. "And some day there will be someone for you. Someone who deserves you. But that is not me…"

There was a sound of a floorboard creaking and Djaq spun around so swiftly she temporarily lost balance. Allan had one of his innocent slightly puzzled expressions and stood hesitant in the doorway, not sure weather to stay or go.

"Allan!" Djaq smiled nervously. The words '_You are the better man_' appeared in her head and she tried not to cringe as she scanned Allan's face for any sign of sadness. It was difficult to see in him, he always seemed so forlorn and lost that sadness was merely another shade under the cheeky grin to those who knew him well. "How long have you been standing here?" she asked softly. Will gave out a sarcastic snorting laughter behind her back.

"Well… Not long mind you," Allan shrugged. "I didn't spy or anything… Look, I spoke to Giz right? Apparently Lady M 'as gone missing or whatever. He wants me to look for her…" Allan grinned at the two outlaws, never one to let a good joke pass, and Djaq gave him a twitchy smile.

"What will you do?" she asked.

"Well I'll go looking for her won't I? A little turn around the town… And you could come with me Djaqie, if you want."

"_Djaqie?!_" Will laughed mockingly. "How charming…"

"And you too Will! Obviously…"

"Pass," Will hissed mockingly in a plain disgust that he didn't bother to hide.

"Alright, stay here and mope then," Allan mumbled under his breath and smilingly reached out a hand for Djaq. She hesitated. It was such a tense strange situation, yet Will had to get used to her and Allan eventually. With a tingle in her stomach she went up to Allan and grabbed his hand, a gesture that felt alien to both of them yet in the same time symbolic. Their hands locked in each other, fingers entwined, a man and a woman walking as one… They were not usually people to hold hands but the act displayed a bond to the world so they held on.

Allan smiled at Will as they left him in the room, a friendly grin that was met with a hostile glare. Djaq could feel that Allan was tense and upset yet that never showed in his demeanour, and she pressed his hand reassuringly. As soon as they were out of sight she reached up to give him a light kiss on the unshaved cheek and he let go of her hand to hold her tightly around the waist instead. So they went out into the town to hunt for a woman they knew where to find had they actually cared to find her in the first place. This was a charade and nothing else, and all in all Allan-a-Dale had always been a master of pretence. He was only glad to finally be deceiving the right side again, and in spite of all the drama and tragedy there was hope in his chest. With all the horror this world holds it had always been the prerogative of humanity to keep hope alive, even in times when it defies all logic. Djaq loved him. _Djaq loved him_. Surely there was still hope for a world where love could find its way even to the fallen…

-----

He had stopped trying to understand it. In the end you couldn't understand malice if you did not have it in you. For Will that meant everything the sheriff did was a mystery. It also meant that this story between_Allan et Djaq_ was a mystery. He could not understand it so he explained it away with a single word. One that he put as a label on everything that was wrong in the world. It was _evil_.

The sheriff was evil. Guy of Gisbourne was evil. And even though Allan wasn't evil, Will had seen enough to know that he had some kind of humanity in him, his love for Djaq was evil. Pure evil. It was evil because it stole her away, dragged her down into a hole. It made her unhappy, or it would make her unhappy in time. So even though Allan did not love her out of spite the dungeon of his affection would be her downfall. How could Will simply stand by and watch Djaq's life get destroyed? He could not let Allan do that. And that was why Will would have to be Allan's Nemesis.

Curing this scarred world was a chore that required sacrifice. Will was gazing out through the window again as his mind worked feverishly to put the random pieces of his plan together. Somewhere in this unhappy city Allan and Djaq was walking side by side in a parody of joy born out of their tainted love. If Allan really loved Djaq then he would simply let her go. But he was not a man that understood sacrifice any more than Will understood malice. The linen sheets on the back yard were moving in the breeze like dancing ghosts of the fading day and smoke rose form the chimneys of Nottingham town. Will was young enough to still carry the entire world on his conscience, not yet ready to compromise and be selective in the battles he choose to fight. This world was wrong and needed saving. Men like the sheriff had to be defeated. Men like Allan-a-Dale needed to be rendered harmless...

It was getting cold outside so he shut the window shutters and lighted a big wax candle. He knew that Guy must be looking frantically for Marian by now, the woman who would die as a direct result of Allan's recklessness. Guy's love for Marian was tainted just like Allan's love for Djaq, and it destroyed everything that was pure in the world. But unlike Djaq Marian was beyond salvation, this world had already cut her down. It was immoral what he prepared to do and he knew it but sometimes 'moral' just wasn't the same as 'right'. There was some sort of retribution for the world in the fact that one tainted love story would prevent another. Things evened out and regained balance.

With a bitter smile Will found Marian's bloody clothes still discarded in the room. She had borrowed a dress from Jess and it suited him well. Yet it wouldn't be quite enough. He looked around then remembered the tag he had around his neck, lifted it over his head and put it in a box on the bedside table. There were papers and ink in there, odd considering Allan was illiterate. How did illiterate people write notes? Then he saw a row of numbers and signs and smiled amused as he realised that Allan was keeping registers over his incomes. He mused a bit over how he would be able to use this fact, them he grinned and took out a clean sheet of paper. He made a new list and painted a little bird by some of the numbers, then he rummaged trough the drawer for any sign of the coins. Finally he found them tucked in under the bed's mattress and removed the number of coins that had a bird painted between them. Guy was astute enough to understand that sign, he felt sure of it. A bird – a robin – money for Robin.

Will scanned the room again and wondered absently what more he needed for this setup. Ropes? A gag? He twitched as he saw a familiar item discarded by Marian's clothes. The Nightwatchman's mask._Brilliant_. He took it up and put it in a sack together with a scarf and a cloak, shuffling it in under the bed.

Marian's bloody clothes. The tag. Money for Robin. The Nightwatchman's gear. Now all Will had to do was get the word to Gisbourne that Allan was a traitor no matter what side he was playing on. He sat down by the table, shuffled everything aside to make room and took out another sheet of paper. He wasn't good at writing but he could manage well enough.

_Ser Guy off Gisborn,_

Will chewed at his bottom lip and frowned as the studied the first sentence. There were plumps of ink staining the paper from the dripping feather-pen and he lifted it before the entire page was destroyed. How should he put this? 'Lady Marian had been kidnapped'? No, it was better to assume that Guy already _knew_ that she was kidnapped. He squinted at the page before he shrugged and finished the short letter:

_Conserning Ladi Marians kiddnapping,_

_Der is word in Town, dey say Alan a Dale has a tag._

_Lokk at d__e Blak Shep._

_God bles, _

_a frend_

Will gave the note a sceptical look. He had a feeling it wouldn't impress anyone but it was safer than meeting Gisbourne face to face and tell him up front. This way he only had to get the note to him and then the wheels would be in motion. Those wheels that would destroy Allan once and for all, making sure he couldn't do any more harm... Will felt a strange tingle of remorse in his stomach and gave the room around him a steady look. It was so very Allan. Untidy and chaotic, Much had always fumed over Allan's complete lack of order but Allan simply grinned innocently over the accusations. It had been fun to have Allan in the camp. In a way he had treated Will like a brother, took care of him in his own strange way. He always had a story to tell by the fire place. He lightened the mood and cheered people up and he was a master when it came to tricky plans.

But all that was simply who Allan _used to be_. He had destroyed all that when he deliberately betrayed them. These days he was a dangerous man, one that had been given a chance to be a better person and failed miserably. Will would cry the day Allan-a-Dale was hanged. He would cry over the man that had been lost before he was born, the man Allan could have become had he only been stronger. But Will would smile as well. He would smile because they would be free, finally free, to live a life without Allan's shadow hanging over them.

With a final nod at the room Will took the letter and left the final lodgings of Allan-a-Dale. It was time to find Gisbourne and put an end to this sordid story once and for all...


	13. Chapter 13

**Hey guys. I'm in a hurry today so I'll just thank you for the comments, wish you all a Very Merry Christmas and leave you with this sad yet somewhat sweet chapter. Enjoy!**

**Oh, also, I agree with you Requiem. There is a little good in... well most people at least. There is certainly a lot of good in Allan. ;) **

**Love,  
Trix**

* * *

Chapter13:

Titanium white

It scared Marian to see how Robin reacted to her condition.

In her mind she chose to think of it as a fall rather than an illness or a predicament since 'fall' somehow summed it all up. She had walked a thin road for a long time now, balancing upon a knife's edge while reality pushed and pulled her unsteady figure. Time and again she worked through it, but even with her body feeble from the blood loss Marian knew that this might be the end of the road. If she lived or if she died was in the hands of God alone and Robin must know it to be so as well. She gazed up at the sombre, troubled man by her side and felt her stomach flip. She had hoped for anger, feared it yet hoped for it all the same. Robin used anger to handle situations. He raged when he was scared, yelled when he wanted to cry because it was easier that way. But he didn't rage now. He didn't yell. He didn't even cry. He simply rode silently by her cart, throwing the odd glance at her to make sure she still breathed, and every time her eyes fell on him he seemed painted in grim determination. The possibility that she might not live was not even in his universe, as incomprehensible as the colour red to someone who only had the visual ability to see greyscales.

In this moment of time, as her world was on its very edge threatening to fall and she could feel her life disappearing from her with every heartbeat, Marian came to think of Orpheus. The Greek hero who travelled into the underworld to bring his love back from death had always captured her interest when she was younger. He failed because he turned to make sure she was there, and Marian spent some drowsy minuets musing over what Robin would do in that situation. He would follow her to hell if he could, she knew him too well to doubt that, but would he manage to not turn on the way back? He was an anxious man, quick to sacrifice himself but even though he gladly played the role of a hero he consistently failed to see where it would be better to step back. The key word was control. Robin needed to have control over every situation, and Orpheus failed his mission exactly when it required that he let go.

Marian winced when the cart hit a bump in the road and sent a jolt of pain through her abdomen. Perhaps she should be lucky that she felt it still, that her mind was fairly astute and her body still functioning, but it was hard to savour a life when there was little in it but pain. This was no Greek saga, she was no nymph and Robin was nothing but a mortal man. If she died he would not be left with the option to bring her back.

Thus it would have been better if he raged, at least that meant that he accepted all possibilities. She wanted to tell Robin not to worry. To live on no matter what. She wanted to reassure him that this last year had been the best and worst of her life, but she wouldn't trade it for anything. She wanted to tell him that sometimes love just isn't enough, and that all things, good or bad, come to an end. Even grief would fade with time if he just let it.

But in spite of this a treacherous though wiggled its way into Marian's mind, a little devil saying that she did not want Robin to ever stop grieving her. She knew that would be the same as saying she did not wish him to be happy without her and she mentally slapped herself for being so very selfish. Knowing that she might die and Robin might have a life after her made her feel hollow and jealous, because the day he found someone new to love she would be truly dead. There would be nothing but a faint memory left, like ripples on the water surface from a stone that sunk long ago. Did people ever mean it when they asked their loved ones to move on when they lay on their death beds? Or did they just do the people they loved a favour, a final sacrifice to the living?

_Never forget me. Never let me go. Never love anyone new. Promise, promise you will live your life waiting for me. _

Marian looked up at Robin and gave the world a bitter smile. She could never tell him the truth in this. In the end she would lie to him and make sure she left with a clean conscience. She would tell him to love someone new, to forget her and move on. She wouldn't mean it but she would wish him to believe it all the same. After she was gone people would tell him that Marian didn't want him to grieve her year after year, and there would come a day when he listened to them.

Marian's lip trembled and she stifled a sob, swallowing the anguish of being forgotten. She didn't want him to be miserable. She really didn't. It was just that she wanted to be the one to make him happy. She shut her eyes in frustration and sighed inwardly. A couple of moments in heaven and a lifetime in hell. Sometimes the universe just didn't have any sense of proportions.

The cart moved more smoothly the last part of the trip as the roads became better when they left the forest behind for the plains around the convent. Marian stared up into the sky where the sun was sinking towards the horizon, preparing to end what might be the last day of her life. She felt drowsy and a bit puzzled, not sure if she had slumbered or been awake the whole journey, and when the cart stopped she was only vaguely aware of the commotion around her. People spoke over her head. She could hear Robin's voice focused and determined and the voice of a woman who spoke with considerable authority, not arguing as much as discussing with the young man who was so resolute in his desperation. Then there was a feeling of two arms gripping around Marian and she was scooped up tightly to someone's chest. She would recognise Robin's embrace anywhere, his body was so familiar as if she belonged there, and she could feel his heart pounding and the trembling breaths as he carried her gingerly into the convent. He mumbled as they went, soothing nothings in her ear more aimed at calming himself than her it seemed, and she answered by pressing her head to his bosom. The steady thud-thud-thud from his heart fastened slightly by her reaction and she felt him swallow hard and bury his face in her hair. He fell silent, stopped the hypnotic mumbling and instead his body finally started to shake in silent, restrained sobs. So perhaps there were tears after all, Marian thought with a sad smile before she drifted off into an exhausted slumber.

-----

It was all so blurry. The entire trip from Allan's room to the convent felt dimmed as if Robin had watched it all through a weatherworn window. It seemed so surreal, the pain too big to handle so he shuffled it away and focused his entire energy on being practical. This was not the time to panic and despair, life meant hope and there was life still.

_There was life still._

They arrived at the convent and he could remember in a sort of dreamy haze that he argued with the abbess. He wished them to hurry and she insisted on following the pace of the monastery, taking care of Marian once the prayers were done but not before. As arguments go it was futile, you couldn't make the earth spin around the sun with all the willpower in the world. (The world was, obviously, already spinning around the sun, but being a medieval man Robin was convinced that it was the other way around).

Eventually he gave in, lifted Marian from the cart and carried her into the convent. He could vaguely remember talking, mumbling soothing words into her brown locks. Then she pressed her head to his chest and in one merciless moment in time he fell apart.

That was then and he hadn't managed to collect himself since. Marian was in one of the rooms with the nuns and Much and he had escaped the scene. He wasn't good at facing disasters when they became personal, the intense suffocating intimacy made him cringe and shy away. The closer to his heart the further away he kept it. He didn't speak to Much about the Holy Land because Much had seen him cry and his pain lay barren before the former manservant. Robin never felt as naked as when he was stripped of all facades. So he escaped Marian, his Marian who lay so pale against the rough linen sheets, and rushed through the corridors until he shuffled the heavy doors of the convent's chapel open. The silence hit against him as a wall. No one breathed in the empty room, no steps echoed on the hard floor. The staring eyes of the saints gazed down at him with indifferent expressions as he went in with cautious steps.

Robin cleared his throat and folded his hands awkwardly. It felt alien and forced to be here, something that he had once learned to do as naturally as swinging a sword seemed so much like a charade these days. He knew it would take despair deeper than any mass grave of the holy land to get him pleading on his knees in a chapel. Yet here he was putting the very last splinters of his feeble hope to a disinterested God in his distant heaven. He coughed and cleared his throat in self-conscious embarrassment.

"I know we haven't spoken lately--" He could hear his voice trembling, weak and artificial, and cleared his throat again. "Not since the Holy Land," he continued a bit louder, "and I think you know why. You cannot send man into hell and expect them to turn to you easily. I could not thank you so I would not ask anything of you. I felt it evened out. But please, please--" his voice trailed off into a sob, got squeaky and strained. "Please God don't take her away from me! Anything, I would give anything you could have anything!!! Please, I do not know what to do--" His knees lay hard against the cold stone floor, ached by the uncomfortable position and he had knotted his hands so hard that the nails dug into his palms. He felt that it helped, the pain helped, it kept him focused and his thoughts somewhat collected. Praying came easier now as the first barriers had given way to the pressure of his grief. Yet the buzzing rose higher in his mind, a plain titanium white agony that swallowed everything, and he trembled so violently that he could hardly speak.

"Please God, please God, please--" he continued desperately. "I cannot do this on my own, please don't take her, please, please, please--" The words lost their meaning, became a desperate pleading yelp with every breath, breathe in breathe out beg, breath in, beg, beg, beg--- He could hear the pleading words as if they came from far away, his body still trembling crouched down in front on the Madonna Dolorosa and suffering Jesus. He pushed the hard fists to his stomach and curled up until his forehead hit the cold floor. Every breath he took was warm and stifling from being heated up and confined to a narrow space by his body that surrounded it like a cave. He would let himself fall, just this once the world would have to do without him. Somehow he felt conned, as if the universe had broken some unwritten agreement. It was never supposed to end like this. When a man gave up everything the world would give him something back, God would maintain a balance. He gave everything,_ and in return he would have her_. Why else had she still been there, waiting for him, when he came back from the Holy Land!? Why else did she survive the dagger wound in that cave, against all odds? And why else had she turned from Guy at the altar? As she ran out into the sunshine, out of that church, she had been shimmering and beaming and _she had been his_. Their love broke her shackles and his, even though he didn't know he had them in the first place. He had not known how much he had relied on destiny after that day. It had seemed meant to be and the world made sense.

Robin stifled a sob and tried to draw some air into his lungs, but it felt heavy as if it was coated with lead or his lungs were filled with water. Tears hurt when we keep them buried in our chests, and he didn't have enough eyes to cry them all out. He heard the door to the chapel creak, carefully as if the person entering was afraid to wake someone. People often treated grief like this, Robin mused, tiptoed around it with so much suffocating respect…

"Master…" Much's voice came from the far end of the chapel and Robin took a deep breath and stood up. He sensed a slight dizziness as he took some steps toward Much, and for a moment he felt embarrassed by being found like this. He studied his old friend warily, dreading what unspoken words the man was carrying to him, but found nothing but worry. He swallowed.

"Is she--" Robin said as his voice came back. He knew that she wasn't. If anything had changed, for better or worse, he would have seen it in Much. Yet, he had to know for sure.

Much shook his head. "No change I'm afraid. Or I'm glad. Depending on--Well--" he smiled nervously and changed the subject. "How are you holding up?"

Robin gave him a sad glance but didn't say anything.

"Ah," Much continued and nodded knowingly. He let his eyes dart around the room. Colourful, as churches was, gilded and every bit of wall crowded with painted pictures or carved icons. Apart from that is was mainly empty, a few common benches on the sides for the elderly being the only furniture. "Well, it's a nice church," he said in a light chit-chat voice.

"Chapel," Robin corrected him absently.

"Sorry? Oh yes-- the convent's chapel. Though the commoners use I hear."

Robin snorted at the world in general, but without either joy or scorn. The sound seemed oddly dejected and Much fell silent, waiting for Robin to say something. When it finally came, the outlaws' leader's voice was a mere mumble.

"It's my fault--" he croaked.

"What?"

"It was my fault," Robin repeated a bit louder and turned to Much, a sudden fire in his eyes. "If he takes anyone it should be me!!! It should be me Much!"

Much flinched by the abrupt change of mood and stared at Robin, their eyes meeting for a few tense moments. This was bad. Robin crying was bad. Robin this distressed, confused and irrational was very bad. There was a kind of insanity in those red puffy eyes, something very un-Robin-esque that made Much realise that he would never be able to reach his old master now. They had been through hell in the Holy Land, but they had been hell _together _back there. This time they were alone in completely different kinds of misery.

The sun filtered down through the panes of glass the little window and painted colourful spots of light on the floor. Red from the saint's coat looked like faint ghost reflections of blood, floating over the stones. _Blood._ The word made its way into Robin's head, past the salt and the pain, and he saw Much's worried face in front of him. He had expected Much to say something vain and futile like 'It's not your fault', and the fact that he remained silent felt somehow important. It meant something, like it confirmed that the world was turned upside down. Fear clutched around Robin's heart and something resembling a mission, or rather a to-do list needing to be checked off, started to materialise through the fog._ To-do: Make sure the nuns don't bleed or leach Marian._

"Much, what are you doing here?" he said, his voice desperate and a bit perplexed. "You should stay there with her, you said you'd stay! They must not bleed her and no leaches, no leaches Much! You were going to keep an eye on her!" It suddenly felt deadly serious that Much was by Marian's door, guarding by her bedside as he had guarded by his in the holy land. He had to protect her from death like he protected him once, as if the world depended on it... _To-do: Make sure Much guards Marian from death_. Much shouldn't be here in this chapel by the red spots of light and the crying Madonna in her gilded dress. "I ordered you to be there! Why are you here?!!"

"Master there is nothing I can do there - they won't let me into the room."

"They must!"

"Robin she is a woman and I am a man, they would leave me out of this even if I was her man by law and not merely an outlawed manservant ordered there by my old master! It is not my place!"

"But someone has to make sure! The blood, she lost so much blood--"_To-Do: Get Djaq!!!_ "--Djaq, we need to get Djaq!"

"We left Djaq behind because she is a Saracen remember? Anyway, they won't bleed or leach her, I made sure of that. They promised, do you believe the nuns would lie to us? Master it will be fine."

"It will not be fine--" Robin scoffed and went over to the cross again, his legs trembling and weak, and gazed up at the suffering Jesus. His chest looked like a washboard, the ribs so pronounced and sharp on the meagre body that was painted pale like a corpse. He had a gash in his side, spikes in his hands and feet, the eyes stared into the sky eternally frozen in pain. The thorny crown on his head and the cloth around his hips were gilded but flaked in a way that made Robin suspect people had scraped it off, and then there was the Madonna. Mild, meek, grieving, she too was dressed in flaking gold that revealed the plain wood underneath. Will would have liked the craftsmanship, her features so finely carved out of the wood and painted to life. There was no real joy in the holy pictures in this chapel, the icons and sculptures showed only sorrow and grief in spite of the rich gold and many colours. All over the walls there were pictures from the bible, here and there broken by a geometrical pattern or a little scene from the everyday life of the peasants that came here to pray. This was an open chapel, a convent that reached out instead of just shutting the doors and taking vows of silence. Many men just like him must have been standing here and gazing up at the sculptures and the holy cross, begging for salvation or the life on a loved one to be spared. Did these pieces of wood ever listen? Would they listen now? He felt a surge of hopelessness overcome him faced with the realisation that he was not the first to beg like this and he would not be the last. In the eyes of God this must be merely another mortal man overreacting, struggling against the tide of time with futile stubbornness. Robin was a man of war, and as such he knew that once you faced death, it always won. He could only beg death didn't face his Marian. He could only hope against hope. God would not care.

"I went to war for you," he whispered with a dejected shrug. "What more do you ask? I bled for you. Left everything behind for you, everything! I have given up my wealth and position to care for my people when you let them suffer-- I killed for you! Time and time again I risked my life for you!!! What more do you ask?! What more do you want from me?!!"

"Master I'm not sure this is a good way to get God's mercy," Much pointed out carefully.

"His_mercy_, Much?! What mercy!?"

"With all due respect master, God's ways-- He gives life and he takes. And well-- Marian did disobey-- him-- slightly--"

Much's words trailed off at the sudden change in Robin's demeanour, and his master's gaze hit him like a hammer. He had seen pain in those eyes before, he had seen irritation, but he was for a moment completely taken aback by the pure hate that emanated from Robin's eyes. There was so much resentment, as if obedient, loyal Much just channelled all that was wrong with the world and now had to serve as a symbol for the cruel reality that was taking his love away from him. He didn't say anything, didn't yell or scorn Much, simply turned away from him with disgust and fell down on his knees again.

There was a sharp pain as Robin's already sore knees hit the hard stone floor, and he winced automatically from the sensation but his mind hardly noticed it. Then he put his head in his hands, grabbed the wet face and shut out the light from the golden chandeliers and colourful spots from the window, and cried. From somewhere deep inside the words '_love wept, and sometimes I wept with him, from whom my steps never strayed far_' emanated from the fogs of a distant memory and flashed by briefly. He had been fond of poetry when he was younger, fond of all words that were big and dramatic, but he rarely gave that life of childish chivalry much thought any longer. There were very little coherent thoughts left, his mind finally painted over by the titanium white agony that left everything blank and empty. His chest and stomach hurt from the convulsive, tense cries, his knees hurt from the hard, cold floor, his eyes hurt from the tears, his hands hurt from the nails that had dug in so deep into the palms. It hurt, just hurt so much and yet it didn't hurt enough. _My fault_ made an appearance in his mind, strangely clear and rational words shooting arrows trough his chest. _She dies because I love her_. _She tried to tell me about this but I didn't listen_-- _Did I ever listen to her?_

Much watched his master with a feeling of desperate helplessness, wondering if he should just leave him alone. He came as far as the door, then turned back and went up to kneel by Robin.

"Blame God," he said. "Blame me, blame Allan… Blame yourself if you will… or her. It will not help master." Then he folded his hands, shut his eyes and started praying.

Robin glanced at Much, saw that his eyes were firmly shut and made a silent promise to ask him for forgiveness before all this was over. He was loyal, had committed no crime but his usual recklessness with words, and what good did anger do now anyway? The guilt was so big it had swallowed him whole, making his feel like the biggest villain in the world. He felt worse than Guy, worse than the sheriff, worse than Allan-- Robin was a man who betrayed the one he loved more than anything in the world. He pushed back the queasiness, suddenly realising that Much would make him eat something eventually, and the mere thought of ever eating again was so incomprehensible. There were tales if people dying from grief. He would not. The great Robin Hood would make sure that someone else killed him instead if it came to that. It was an insight more than a decision, but in a way it felt comforting. He couldn't face the prospect of life without her, and it was a relief to know that it wouldn't last forever. He sighed and looked up at the statues again. So it came to this. _To-do: Pray_.

There was nothing else left to do.

---

Nuns came and went, prayed and lighted candles around them as the night grew darker. Robin had never feared the dawn as much as on this dire night, with Djaq's words still vivid in his mind. After a while he stood up and paced for a while, as if moving around made it all more bearable, and sunk down leaning on the southern wall. He must have slept because suddenly his eyes twitched open, his neck stiff and a trail of dried saliva against his chin, and there was light coming from the painted window once again. He scanned the room with the bewilderment of a person with one foot still lingering in the mysterious dream realms and found Much sitting by his side wide awake. Then there was a couple of horrible seconds as he put the current reality together again, every single terror of the last day hitting against him with jolts of pain shooting through his body. He titled the stiff neck, let his head dip down into his palms with a low moan and rubbed his tired eyes.

"No word yet," Much reassured him. Simple, straightforward Much, such a rock when he had to be, and Robin nodded wearily. "No word means not dead," Much continued. "It is good news Robin."

"No," Robin sighed. "It is merely the absence of bad news."

He rose with some effort, limbs screaming in agony, and looked at the door in awe.

"I'll go check on her," he said, as if he was trying to persuade himself that it was what he was going to do. His voice sounded detached and confident in spite of everything being upside down, and Much nodded and stood up to follow him.

They walked in grim silence through the empty corridors, their steps hollow and followed by fainter echoes bouncing off the naked walls. Finally they pushed pen the door to Marian's temporary quarters, wordlessly holding their breaths in fear of what awaited.

The room was big but empty, a single bed at the western wall and a wooden cross above it. A sister dressed in grey sat crouched in prayers by the bedside, a soft mumbling Latin and in her hands a simple rosary moving swiftly through the bony fingers to keep count. Robin breathed out and swallowed hard, forcing himself to look at the bed as he walked gingerly into the room. Once he dared to look at her he found it impossible to tear his eyes away, staring and staring in the velvety morning light. His eyes were glued to the pale face that rested against the pillow, so very still and serene surrounded by a halo of brown curls. Her eyes were shut, the soft lips only slightly parted in the porcelain face, and even now she seemed so immensely beautiful to him. The nun didn't lift her head or disrupt the prayers when he entered and Robin stood in horror for a while scanning Marian for any sign of life. Then he lowered the trembling fingers to her face, dreading the touch because he didn't know what to expect. Would she be cold in death? Would her skin feel cool and hard like china? Or did she merely sleep? Then he took a deep breath, collected all his courage into one single action and cupped her cheek.

For a couple of seconds his heart stopped beating and then her eyes shot open.


	14. Chapter 14

**Ehm... Well, don't kill me after this chapter. /hides/**

**Thanx for the comments! **

**Enjoy!  
Love/ Miss Trix**

* * *

Chapter 14:

Thud

It took one look to know.

One look to see the sadness turning his smile into a frown.  
Two looks to hear the bitterness turning his sweet words sour.  
Three looks to feel the desperation turning his tender touches rough.

All it took was one look and Djaq knew that Allan had heard every word she spoke to Will over the Black Sheep. She cringed when she replayed the conversation in her head and heard it through his ears. The pain and regret in her voice as she begged Will for forgiveness made her wince. Allan must have heard her say that he held her heart against her will, in spite of being the worse man. He must have heard her say that she loved him as well, but he would remember that she wished that she didn't.

His steps seemed heavy where he walked by her side, his jokes desperate as the words of a man who tries too hard. His smile was too wide, his laughter too loud. Djaq wanted to say that she was sorry but realised that she feared the subject too much. As long as it simply lurked under the surface it was controlled, and she was terrified about letting it loose from the shackles that bound it to the darkness. So instead she clung to him, every time the streets became sheltered she kissed and kissed him, she laughed louder and smiled wider._ I am here. I am yours. There is nowhere I would rather be._ And Allan seemed surprised at first, then fell into the game with lust and joy and naked despair over the last days. They chased each other through the town, he teased and challenged her and she dared him, the kisses became fiercer for every shadow and the tingle in her stomach became a roaring fire.

They shouldn't laugh yet they laughed and played like children, and they ran because they were afraid of the intimacy of stillness. Djaq felt flushed and giddy like a young girl, eagerly lost in a parody of innocence that she couldn't remember ever owning. The shadows striped the streets and divided them between the pretence of light and the honesty of darkness, in a world where you hid in the shade to be free and thus could never be free.

Finally he sneaked up on her, pushed his arm around her waist and pulled closer. She could feel his chest against her back and his lips damp against her ear as they caught their breaths, hearts still beating fast as she leaned into his embrace.

"There were some children playing," Allan mumbled against her neck, his voice sounding distant as if it came from far away. "The thing is-- No one wanted to play Allan, you know? No one wants to be Allan. I don't even want to be Allan mind you. No one wants to love Allan either--"

Djaq felt her breath catch in her throat and found it impossible to respond. It was futile to give him solace from the truth since he was too good a liar himself to be fooled, and there was no way she could honestly tell him that she would love him by choice alone.

"The heart chose for me," she finally answered. "Sometimes the heart is wiser."

"Not being funny but the heart is bloody stupid," Allan grinned. "It's okay Djaqie. I'm a lucky sod that your heart messed up--" She could hear from the way he breathed that there was more he wanted to say, yet he kept silent and started moving towards The Black Sheep instead. They crossed the magic border where the shadows of the narrow alley turned into the light of open space and moved apart as if the sun burned them. As they turned around a corner they saw horses and guards outside the Black Sheep Arms and they stopped, pushing up towards the wall.

"I do not like this," Djaq shook her head. "Something is wrong. That is Guy's horse, but why would he be here with all his men?"

"Perhaps they stopped for afternoon tea," Allan grinned. "Look, you stay back - I'll go in first and deal with sir grumpy, alright?"

"I am not sure. Perhaps we should find Little John and Will." There was something about the way the guards stood, not leaning comfortably but rather at strict attention. _Guarding_. Why would they be guarding here?

"Nah, don't worry," Allan responded with a flippant shrug. "Guy isn't all that bad really, once you get past all that leather."

Djaq sighed at Allan's cocky grin and watched him prance across the street with the self-assured walk of a man that knows how to put on a show. She didn't like this, her stomach told her to worry and she knew her stomach to be wiser than her heart. But Allan wouldn't listen to her stomach any more than he listened to reason. Se waited until he disappeared through the door, then took a detour around the house and made herself comfortable behind the sheets on the back yard. The voices inside were hushed but she could hear them, and through the door she caught glimpses of people like random pieces of a puzzle. Then she realised that there were guards on the second floor as well and the worry in her stomach turned into ice cold terror.

----

It would have been a lie to say that Allan walked into The Black Sheep with the same confidence that he displayed, and when he stepped over the threshold his anxiety flipped over to fear. The room was silent and tense, the guests standing by the walls leaving the middle of the room empty like an arena where Sir Guy rose like the grim reaper. The image made Allan feel a bit uncomfortable so he took a deep breath and told himself that it was only Guy, the man barked more than he bit in Allan's experience.

But then again, when he actually bit you weren't likely to get out of it with your head still attached to your body.

"Guy! What are you doing 'ere?" Allan grinned nervously and put his hands to his sides. "Marian is still out there-- Right? You haven't found her or whatever?"

"You tell me," Guy scoffed and paced over the hard floor of the ale house. His footsteps echoed in the tense silence as if this room was hollow and lay barren rather than filled with people. They seemed to hold their breaths and Allan swallowed hard wondering what they knew that he didn't. The leather and metal in Guy's clothes creaked and clenched when he moved over to Allan and pulled out something from his pocket. Allan gave Guy a bewildered look, an image of picture perfect well-rehearsed innocence, and moved his eyes down from his master's cocked eyebrow to the outstretched hand. Then his heart sunk. There was an outlaw tag that hung dead and lonely in Guy's hand.

"Who!?" Allan exclaimed as he watched the object paralyzed and hypnotized by the soft rocking movement. A million thoughts ripped and pulled his attention, shuffled it from side to side like a rowing boat on a storming ocean. Who? Why? How? And was he, Allan, in trouble as well? "I mean--" he swallowed and gave Guy a cocky grin. "Look, I don't know them all alright? They're all just bunch of peasants really."

Guy gave out a snorting laughter and clenched his hand around the cord that the tag dangled from, his movements forced and tense from restrained anger. "Really?" he sneered.

"Yes, really!" Allan swallowed again. Of all the sticky situations that he had been in through his life this was the kind that he hated the most. It was the kind where he didn't have a clue about his own crime. Sure, he didn't lack reasons for Guy to rage against him, but witch one was it that made these shadows of fury dance over Guy's features? _Breathe in, breathe out, be calm-- everyone will believe you to be guilty if you look it._ "Listen," he continued. "Tell me what he looked like right? And maybe I can help?"

"Help?" Guy's features were transformed into a bitter smile. "You want to_help _now do you?"

"Yeah! Sure! Guy, I'm you man now!" He gave the room a nervous scan, letting his eyes dart from face to face. Most of them seemed severe but fascinated, like the faces on the people the day he was hanged. Was this a similar crowd? One that watched a disaster with the indifferent eyes of an observer? He frowned and let his eyes rest a while on Jess Littlelamb. She shook her head at him, and he wished he could ask her why she seemed so compassionate and slightly condemning. _What have you done Allan-a-Dale?_

Yes, what_had _he done?!

Guy's smile became sour and disgusted as he watched Allan. Then he gave the tag to a guard, turned around and paced over to the other side of the room.

"Shackle him," he ordered a guard and Allan felt his heart fasten and a pair of hands grabbed his and twisted them behind his back.

"What? Guy!? What!?" The lump in his throat grew and he searched the room in panic for some support. There were some hushed arguments passing between the guests, faces confused and others that had the all-knowing air of a person who had too much to drink and held all the answers in the world. _What did he do? Whose side are we on anyway? _Allan filled in the words from the lips that moved, realised that they were watching him but refused to meet his puzzled gaze. "What have I done!? Guy!?" His voice broke off as he met Guy's stare and saw nothing but hate, ice cold and beyond sanity and reason. The pieces of this puzzle didn't fit, but he had a feeling the final picture would be one of gallows and the limp body of Allan-a-Dale.

Guy reached out his hand to one of the guards gave him a sack. His eyes didn't dart from Allan's face even as he grabbed the sack, and neither did they yield when he turned out the content on the floor. Mask. Cloak. The Nightwatchman's gear seemed so very pathetic where it lay discarded on the floor. Allan swallowed as he realised that this was another piece of the puzzle that didn't quite fit, but it certainly wasn't looking promising.

"These are your clothes," Guy finally scoffed. "This is _your_ tag. The charade is over, yet you choose to keep the pretence up?! You are worse than a woman!"

"_My_ clothes?!" Allan exclaimed. "No! Guy! Look, you don't understand! They kicked me out! I'm not the Nightwatchman, I'm not with Robin! I'm not!" Allan's heart pounded hard in his chest. Somewhere under the panic and confusion a little voice laughed bitterly. Such irony that a man of so many crimes was destined to fall from one he didn't commit! "Listen, Guy, you 'ave seen me with the Nightwatchman, it can't be me! The day he got stabbed! I was there, remember!?"

"I would not remember a lowlife nobody," Guy sneered. "And even if I did it would mean nothing! Perhaps he died and you decided to carry on his legacy. These things were found in your room together with papers proving that you have given money to Robin Hood."

"What papers! I can't even write! Look Guy I got enemies! We both do and now they turn us against each other. I have been framed! Honestly!"

"Do you deny that you keep registers over your incomes and expenses? You are a greedy man - I would not have managed to buy you from Robin otherwise. Now it seems that was a poor purchase--"

"What? No—" Allan swallowed. This was wrong, so very wrong! "Nah, I mean I do keep 'em, but that is no crime is it?"

"Not in itself, no," Guy smirked bitterly and walked over to Allan with the papers clutched in his hand. "But when your greatest expense is a_robin _then that is indeed a crime." Allan felt Sir Guy's saliva stain his face as he talked, and the unpleasant scent of leather and sweat that always accompanied Guy lingered in the air. The ale house seemed thick with expectation from all the fascinated observers as Allan stared at the paper. He did keep registers but this wasn't it.

"Wha—" he stammered. "Nah you got it all wrong! It's not a robin, it's just a bird!" He struggled to find a plausible explanation to the rows of painted birdlike figures. 'I didn't do it' never seemed to work, and he had a gut feeling that the fact that it was true for once didn't make much difference. "It's-- Look I'm a lonely man Giz, you know what it's like! A little coin a little company. The birds, that's just women Guy, really, it is nothing but expensive lasses that!"

Guy stared at him for a while then laughed, amused but not in any friendly way. "You're telling me you spend enough money to feed two or three big families on cheap women?!"

"What can I say," Allan shrugged and ignored the nervous tremble in his voice. "I 'ave a problem— Needs and urges. Gives a man a lot of enemies though, some of there gals got husbands and everything!"

"So," Guy smirked sarcastically. "You spend all your money on women and now a jealous husband has gone through with some elaborate scheme to bring you down, kidnapping a noble woman and planting evidence in your room?"

"Well," Allan hesitated, he may be desperate for any explanation but this one seemed rather too far fetched to fool anyone with. "It could have happened like that!" he shrugged. "How should I know!? Look, I didn't do it! I'm loyal to you Guy! Honestly!"

"Did you say the same to Robin when I bought you?" Guy scoffed, then inhaled deeply through his nose and let out a weary sigh. "You will have one chance to live," he spat. "One chance to _maybe_ live to see a fair trial."

Allan gave out a snorting laughter by the notion of a fair trial in Nottingham, but quickly swallowed his scorn as Guy took a firm grip around his collar and gave his face a punch that burned and made him bite down over his tongue. Blood filled his mouth as Guy tightened the grip around his collar and looked him firmly in the eyes.

"Listen to me," he hissed through clenched teeth. "You may be able to betray and humiliate a pansy like Robin Hood and get away with it, but I am no peace loving tree-hugger. We found Lady Marian's bloody clothes in your room and in my book that makes you the lowest most despicable of men."

"You found her clothes? But—Look! I'm—Listen to me! I can explain!"

"Shut up or loose your tongue, trash!" Guy yelled, and Allan shut his eyes to avoid another rain of spit to hit them. "You don't have the brain or guts to do this on your own. This is Robin Hood's work! Therefore I will make a statement tomorrow, by the gallows, that if I do not know the exact location of Lady Marian by dusk then you will not only be hanged. I will personally chop you up while you still breathe and feed your flesh to the birds!!!"

"Look I'm not being funny but—"

"Good," Guy sneered. "I'm not known for my humour." He loosened the grip around Allan's collar, then gave him a heavy kick in his stomach that pushed the breath from Allan's lunges and made him fall down on his knees. The world seemed to be spinning and he saw little stars dance in front of his eyes as he gasped for air. Guy's voice came from far away when he continued, sounded detached and indifferent. "That is your one chance" he said. "One chance for a possibility to see a trial. One faint chance to live. I suggest you take it, or pray that someone loves you enough to save you a-Dale. Though I wouldn't hold my breath on that if I were you."

Allan struggled to his feet and looked around the room in desperation. They all seemed severe yet intrigued and a bit sad that the show appeared to be over. _Don't miss the exciting sequel tomorrow by the gallows_, Allan mumbled under his breath, _Bring your wife and kids_.

"Take him," Guy ordered his guards and nodded in Allan's general direction. "Oh, and burn this tainted place."

"What!" Jess Littlelamb's voice rose over the tense silence in the room. "No! I have done nothing but rent this man a room! The Black Sheep is a respectable place! Please, sir! Have mercy! This is all I have!"

"You have aided him in your ignorance and lack of control. You have even washed the bloody sheets for him! Be quiet wench or I will have you hanged!"

"But you cannot burn a house in the middle of the town!" Jess pleaded. "You may burn half the town. Sir, be reasonable! This is all I have!"

"Then maybe you should have thought about that before you aided this sorry excuse for a man," Guy scoffed and walked towards the door. "Burn it!"

---

That night the people in Nottingham fought a fire that ate five houses and killed four people who had nothing at all to do with this sordid story. In the ranks of the sooty towns people rebellion was born, hate grew and blossomed as the smoke lay thick over the streets and hugged every house. They sweated and hated. They coughed and hated. They dug barriers and wasted water and hated more than they had ever hated before. When the day came the streets were thick with upset, hating people, raging like a hurricane under the surface, simply waiting for a chance to break through. There were more clenched fists than ever in the group of people that stood and watched Guy and the sheriff drag out Allan to the gallows. They listened to his crimes yet in that moment fate made him a symbol and a martyr simply for being the victim of everyone's most hated enemies. The air in Nottingham still smelled of smoke and the town still sizzled. Even though the fire was put out, the people burned with hate and fury for the men that killed their peers and razed their houses. The people watched. And they hated.

---

Djaq's first reaction the evening before had been to run into The Black Sheep, kill Guy, kill every guard, anything to get Allan out from there. But her mind spoke louder than her heart and froze her to the ground, forcing her to follow the scene bewildered and desperate yet unable to do anything to stop it. She heard Allan's stumbling excuses, the paper-thin story that he put together instead of simply telling the truth, and in that moment she hated him. She hated him for being such an impossible man to love, for begging Guy to trust him, swearing his loyalties to a monster. She wished he could have at least tried to be honest, stand up for what he believed in for once, and she hated him for lying time and time again. But most of all she hated him for threatening to die away from her. She hated him for being shackled and punched, hated him for being in danger in spite of doing everything to save his own skin. It was irrational, so she hated him from making her irrational as well.

Then the hate faded and she loved him instead. Pure, untainted, simple love that made her cry because it seemed futile and doomed to fail. She cried when she helped the people to put out the fire, and even more when she made a soothing balm for the burns and declared a pale child dead from the toxic fumes. She turned away from the mother cradling her unmoving daughter, coughed from the smoke and told herself that it was the fire that made her eyes water and her mind feel dulled and slow. It took some time before she realised that the fire was put out and she had Will and Little John by her side, and she forced herself to wake up and think. Nottingham was dark but a faint morning light had begun to reveal the extent of the damage. The Black Sheep and its neighbourhood were only black reeking skeletons where people walked around, randomly poking trough the ash as if there were hidden treasures under the layers of sooth. It was such a sad scene, the pitiful greed in these poor people.

"We need to get these people shelter," Little John grumbled. He was covered in sooth and his face was striped by the water that he splashed in it, painting black rivers that brought ash from the curly hair down to the cleansed face.

"I have counted to 27 people homeless," Will added. He sounded sad, but there was something more in his voice that surprised Djaq when she identified it. Shame, she realised, guilt and regret. But why? "3 people dead," Will continued his count. "It is good considering."

"Four," Djaq corrected him. "At least two more people missing. And did you count Allan, Will?"

"Allan is not missing," Will mumbled.

"No but he is homeless."

"He is dead," Will said a bit more forceful. "It is time to care for the living, Djaq."

"He is not dead!" Djaq exclaimed and gave Will a small shuffle. "We need to go to the gallows, we need to help him!"

"Djaq! There is nothing we can do!" Will sounded agitated and annoyed when he spoke. "He is as good as dead. These people need us!"

"You may do as you like," Djaq sobbed, her voice soft but trembling from restrained emotion. "I will go to the gallows."

"We go to the gallows," Little John stated, and put an end to the discussion in his usual manner.

"Thank you," Djaq responded, and gave Little Johna grateful smile. He didn't like this, yet he chose her side with the loyalty of a father looking after his children. She sighed and shook her head. "I do not understand," she said as she watched the ruins that surrounded them. "How did this happen?!"

She felt Will's hand on her shoulder and shrugged it off. She did not want his touch, not now. These days were so stressful, her life was in a mess and everything seemed to be in pieces. Marian may be dead. If Marian was dead then Robin would be lost. If Robin was lost then Much would follow him with the same loyalty as always. Now houses were burned. And Allan may be doomed, only days after she realised that she loved him.

"Someone set him up," she continued with a frown. "Guy said there were books, accounts."

"So? He kept count over his blood money," Will scoffed.

"No, you do not understand Will! Allan could count his own fingers and get it fairly right, give or take one or two fingers, but he couldn't put two and two together if his life depended on it. Keeping accounts was beyond him, _I_ helped him put those together! Me and Jess! There was no symbol looking like a bird, I would have known. Jess only helped him update it, she never changed anything."

Will remained silent and stared at her with wide eyes, and somewhere under the surface there was a new fear turning into a terrible insight gripping Djaq's heart. She felt sick and cold to the bones, her head woozy and aching by the stress and smoke.

"Will," she gasped. "Will, what have you done? Will!! All these people, all these—And Allan! Allan used to be your friend, I do not understand. Why?! Will, why?"

"Djaq!" Will grabbed her hand and took a step closer. "I didn't mean this to happen! You must know that! I really didn't, I'm sorry."

Djaq stared at him and made her hand limp in his. This was Will Scarlet. The nicest most sensitive man she had ever known. A good man. She knew this was an honest mistake, yet the irony of it all was that Will condemned mistakes like this in Allan. He always failed to see that the consequences of a crime could be bigger that the crime, failed to forgive and understand. Did he understand now? Did he feel the domino effect that so often made Allan fall further that he imagined? Did he realise that a small mistake could have dire effects that weren't intended? Could he see, finally, that bad actions didn't necessarily make you a bad man?

She swallowed and took a deep breath. "We will not talk of this now," she decided. "I forgive you the day that you forgive Allan. Do you understand him, Will? Now that you have made mistakes yourself, I beg you—grow from the experience."

Will flinched and took his hand away from her, then he frowned and seemed to think this over.

"I understand him a little," he admitted reluctantly. "I still hate him Djaq. I still love him too. That is what makes it so hard to forgive him."

She nodded at him with a crooked smile, then went over to Little John and gave him a tug. It was morning and they needed to freshen up before the meeting, a little water, a little food. The town seemed strange and tense around them, angry in the smoke that lay like a fog around the houses. Djaq blinked away a tear as they went and the sooth from her lashes stung her eyes. The sky was grey over the smoke and a light morning drizzle washed the worst of the ash from their skin.

Djaq thought her heart never had felt heavier to carry.

---

Here he stood. The people watched in rage but it had struck Allan that they didn't rage against him. It was afternoon and his feet hurt from the hours up on the gallows. He had been punched and threatened and humiliated, and it all hurt ten times as much because he saw Djaq flinch and wince and cry out. Her voice was drowned by the roaring from the people, and there was Will and Little John right behind her. At some point Will motioned that he was sorry and Allan felt a bit surprised that he didn't react more fiercely to the sudden insight that it was Will that framed him. It made sense. Not because Allan was a traitor, he was a trickster and as such he had to read people well. He knew that Will resented him because they both loved the same woman yet Allan won her heart. He could relate to that. He gave Will a bitter smile, shrugged and then watched Djaq again. She seemed tired and upset, sooty even though she had washed up. For every punch against him she grew even tenser and suddenly there was a determination in her face. He frowned. _What do you think Djaq?_ What would he have thought in her situation?

And then he knew. In one painfully clear moment he knew that she would try to save him. It would destroy everything. She would be caught, Will would be caught, Little John would fight like an animal and then he would get caught as well. Eventually Guy would find Marian's corpse and the poor nuns would take the blame as well. Yet what choice did Djaq have? Stand by and watch him die? He could not to it, and he had no one else to compare to than himself - it was the only way of acting that he knew and understood.

Allan swallowed and looked around, scanned the faces of the guards and wiggled his body slightly. They didn't hold him very hard. He cocked his face to the sky and watched the slowly moving grey quilt that hid the sun. It didn't become him to be a hero, yet love makes fools of us all. With a sigh he did a quick turn before he changed his mind, made himself free from the guard that held him and ran towards a soldier he knew as Thomas Marly - a keen newbie who was skilled where most of the guards were lazy. He smiled when the sword sunk into the soft flesh in his side, then screamed by the pain and fell down on his knees. The wood of the gallows seemed blurry and there was blood staining them. _My blood_, he thought, and gasped for air. He heard a woman cry and scream from far away, somewhere in the crowd. _My woman_, he thought, and then there was a thud as something hit his head and everything went black.

---

The people of Nottingham watched in rage as their unlikely martyr fell. And then the town finally exploded.


	15. Chapter 15

**Thanx a lot for commenting peeps! It feels really encouraging to know that someone reads this! ;D**

**Love,  
Trix **

* * *

Chapter 15

Nottingham's Burning

Erase. Rewind. Replay.

First Allan looked at Will, his lips moved and formed words that Djaq failed to guess. Then he looked at her, right at her, eyes locked into each other like tiny magnets held them there. Another punch, more pain, and the sun was moving steadily towards the day's end. She might as well try to stop the sun from sinking behind the horizon, yet she couldn't let him die like this. Then it all happened so fast, Allan smiled, fought his way out of the guards' grip and fell.

NO!

Erase. Rewind. Replay. Yet it always happened like that, reality wouldn't yield. Allan fell and fell and fell in front of her, down on his knees, a sword in his side. The moment was burned on the inside on her eyelids and she couldn't escape it. The surgeon in her went over the facts, made qualified guesses over the damage the sword could have done, calculating his chances. She knew that she must have screamed because her throat hurt and her jaws felt tense, but there was too much sound around her to hear her own voice. And she knew she must have struggled to get to Allan, because Little John and Will held her so tightly that it hurt. She took a couple of sharp trembling breaths and tried to calm down. In her mind Allan still fell over and over again but she forced the panic into the background and focused on the scene around her. She realised that she was being shuffled around, people pushed and pulled her as the crowd moved like a storming ocean. The people roared and yelled in rage, and in a moment of shock she saw that the sheriff and Guy were running, escaping into the castle while the soldiers fended off the furious Nottingham populous.

"They have gone insane!" she exclaimed and stared at the escalating chaos. Once an avalanche slides it pulls with it more and more snow and the physics of a raging crowd works much the same way. No one could control it so they followed and used their own fury to spur the madness on. Djaq started to move towards the gallows but got a hard shuffle that made her fall down to the ground. There was a forest of legs around her, feet trampling, stumbling, running, falling ahead and she met the panicking face of a young girl crawling on all four as the people pushed and stepped on her. Then Djaq felt someone lifting her up to the gallows and she gave Little John a grateful look, pointing him in the direction of the girl. It was fatal to fall down here, if you didn't rise you would get crushed to death. She got a better view over the chaos from the gallows, saw the random soldiers fighting for their lives like silver-coloured mushrooms sticking up between the raging people, and then she turned her attention to the gallows' platform. Allan lay on his stomach, one arm twisted under his body, his cheek against the edge of the platform and his back heaved with struggling breaths. _Breathing_.

Djaq fell down on her knees and gripped around Allan's limp body, rolling him over to his back and lifting his head so that lay with his entire body on the platform. His hair was sticky from a small wound on the back of his head and Djaq took a deep breath to not start to panic when she saw her fingers coloured red. Then she shifted her attention to his side, moving her hand down to a small crimson pool below his ribcage. The sword seemed to have hit the bone making the gash long but shallow enough to give her a faint sparkle of hope. She pressed down her palm to the wound and felt her fingers become enveloped in lukewarm sticky fluid, pulsating under her touch.

"I cannot do this," she sobbed, panic raging through her veins. "I cannot—"

"Cannot do what?"

Djaq flinched and turned her head to Will who was crouching down beside her.

"He lives," she said. "We need to get him to a safe place. We need to get a real surgeon, someone who can sew him up. My hands, they tremble—Look! We need to get Robin and Much, this town has gone insane."

"I need wine," Allan's eyes shot open and he lifted his head with a low moan. "Mmmff—"

"Allan, be still!" Djaq suppressed a cheer at Allan's return to consciousness and tried not to loose her focus when she saw his face become distorted by the pain.

"Wha's going on 'ere anyway," Allan slurred and turned his head to the yard where people still seemed to rage aimlessly.

"People are angry that is what is happening," Will responded gravely. "How are you?"

"Perky as a whistle—" Allan's grin was transformed into a grimace as Djaq buried her fingers deeper into the cut, and he gave out a sharp yell. "Djaqie love, be gentle!!!"

"We need to get you out of here. Don't worry, you will be fine." Djaq could hear how shallow and pointless the words sounded in her mouth. 'You will be fine' is not a sentence that is spoken merely with the sound of the syllables, but rather uttered with the tone of one's voice and the look of one's face. And Djaq could sense her body contradicting the words, making the vain attempt to comfort her lover into a lie that he wouldn't buy. Yet it felt good to say it, as if you could somehow persuade nature to follow your judgement. Medically speaking he had a fairly good chance to live if they got him a skilled surgeon. The problem was that Djaq wasn't primarily thinking in terms of medicine when her hand was buried in the torn flesh of a man she loved.

The other problem was that Nottingham looked like the judgement day had fallen upon it. The crowd had dispersed slightly but not calmed down. Instead the riot had spread through the town like wine in water, slowly finding some sort of structure. Every war is a state of emergency, a limbo where the beggar can be king, the baker may find he should have been born a butcher and the silent kitchen maid can find her voice - realising that she never talked because she had been made to scream. Here and there groups of people had started to gather around newfound leaders, there were still battle screams but they were broken by new sounds. The agony of a woman realising she had become a widow, the weeping of a child who couldn't find his parents in the chaos. The girl who Djaq had seen when she fell sat safe up on the gallows with big, shocked eyes, but there were others less lucky.

It was hard to know if the vaguely human-shaped piles of bloody clothes and flesh that you could see randomly scattered over the yard had been cut down by the guards or trampled to death. Some pathetic figures walked over the area, rummaging through the pockets of the dead and wounded to find any easily sealable valuables. Others collected the still living, carried them to safety or at least somewhere less unsafe. The guards had started to organize themselves as well, securing the castle while trying to find some sort of structure. Djaq felt a moment of dizziness when the severity of the situation overwhelmed her. How did you find a surgeon in this chaos?! How did you find a safe place?! And then what? How did you stop a riot before it went out of hand? How did you stop a riot that had already gone way out of hand!?

"What if they kill the sheriff?!" Will suddenly exclaimed, gazing out over the town where dusk had started to fall. "Prince John will raze this town. We cannot let this happen."

"I go to Robin," Little John stated. "But first we need to find a better place for Allan."

Allan looked at John in astonished surprise, then turned to Djaq as if she was some sort of anchor in a world gone mad.

"What did I do right Djaqie?" he mumbled puzzled as John gave him a nod that seemed like an acceptance from the big man. "Why do they help me first? Before Nottingham and all?"

"You kept silent," Little John said and there was some sort of embarrassed mumble in agreement from Will. Djaq gave them an astonished look. She had not even thought about their reactions, too preoccupied with Allan and the general chaos to notice how they had softened. Allan had not said anything about Marian. He hadn't said anything at all. She felt a moment of warm tenderness towards him, a tug in her stomach as she realised that the expression in his face was one of wonder. He didn't expect people to help him, he wished they would but didn't dare to believe in their forgiveness. Now the surprised gratitude in his face almost made her weep for him. How very little he thought of himself when it came down to it, in spite of all his self-assured cockiness.

Djaq put a hand on Allan's cheek, leaning forward to give him a soft kiss. There were a couple of seconds of serenity as her mind found solace in the tender touch, his lips responding and sucking on to hers, a couple of moments when Nottingham didn't burn and rage and her hand wasn't covered in his blood. Then she broke the kiss and leaned back, nodding to Little John that stood waiting to lift Allan, and the world came back to her. There were sounds of destruction all over the town, things being crushed and random screams of pain or fury. People was preparing for war, now that the beaker finally had overflowed there was no stopping it and they were barricading their houses, taking back the streets. Will was right, if these people managed in their rightful war then that would mean the end of Nottingham and all they had fought for. Every face that met her on these streets would perish in the aftermath. Every house she passed would be a ruin and no one would be alive to rebuild it.

---

Nottingham was burning. On the streets invisible flames licked the bare feet of a boy, he ducked and ran and sneaked through this town gone insane.

They called him Ginger. The name was so ancient he hardly remembered where it came from.

Though, in the world of a 7-year old anything older than two or three years seems so old as if it came from a different era altogether. He was not the brightest of kids, Ginger son of David-the-Red, his hair was carrot-coloured and his freckles numerous and horribly mismatched to the pink skin. His body seemed to be made up entirely of limbs, scrawny like a scarecrow and the clumsy movements always seeming somewhat uncoordinated. Ginger was grumpy and difficult to get along with, and when he chose his favourite outlaw in a rather more recent ancient time his choice had fallen on Allan-a-Dale. He always played him when he played with the Northerwall kids, the rather harmless gang he belonged to. The children of Nottingham knew one or two things about loyalty, and it had all to do with knowing the right secrets handshakes and having people to beat up the people that beat you up.

Today Ginger was a man on a mission. It had been a rough couple of months since his hero fell from grace and dragged him down with him, filled with fistfights that he always lost and arguments that he usually ran away from crying from furious indignation. Thus it filled him with an immense amount of rather smug pride to realise that Allan was on the right side once again, that people raged because he had been captured and hurt by that nasty sheriff. The way he saw it the chaos on the streets was all about that and had nothing at all to do with taxes and other socio-economic reasons. Children have their own kind of intelligence, closer to their intuition than to facts and logical deduction. Unlike grownups they are used to sneaking and running from danger, though it is more often than not imaginary and harmless perils they face. This time Ginger knew the game was for real, the stakes were higher and it all came down to him.

Ginger watched the group of outlaws from some way back, following them cautiously and suddenly feeling very shy. The thing with grownups was that they were all so _big_. Bobby Big-Bone, the child who usually played Little John in the Northerwall kid's favourite game, was menacing enough, and he was hardly as big as the smallest of the outlaws even. _It is just Djaq_, he told himself, _and Will Scarlet and Little John and Allan_. He had met Allan once on the streets of this sorrowful town. The fallen outlaw had ruffled Ginger's carrot coloured hair, slurred something about being a good boy and picked out a copper coin from behind the kid's big ear. Surely only the very best and kindest of grownups would act with such grandeur and generosity.

Yet these people scared him. They scared him more than the drunken butcher, who was currently wobbling past them with a meat axe dangling from his hand as he gestured wildly while talking to his comrades. And they scared him more than the guards, who stalked the streets with their swords drawn, now and then swinging them aimlessly in order to seem more menacing than terrified. They even terrified him more than his own mum, who was certain to be somewhere out there looking for him, ready to drag him home with a firm grip around his blushing ear. They scared him in a way that only heroes can, people who are so far above and beyond you that they have become a myth of godlike proportions.

He took a deep breath and boldly walked up to the outlaws, grabbed on to the arm of Djaq the Saracen and tugged it to get her attention. She turned to him with eyes that were big and sad, big brown pools that left him a little bit speechless. It was odd to be this close to the actual outlaws, the ones that stole real silver and not rocks freckled by mica.

"Hello little one," she gave him a stressed smile. "You are lost?"

He shook his head and frowned gravely. _Little one!_ Ginger gazed up at Allan who was being carried by Little John in a way that seemed a little bit too feminine for the trickster to feel comfortable. "I wanna 'elp," he murmured.

"Help?" Djaq responded, letting her eyes flicker from the boy whose eyes were plastered to Allan and the surroundings. "This is no place for a child - you should be with your parents."

"I know where to go," he insisted. "Come."

The outlaws exchanged the kind of looks that grownups exchanges over the heads of children, wrongly assuming that it passes youngsters by. Yet this wasn't the kind of indulgent looks that Ginger was used to, but rather a hesitant kind, as if they knew they shouldn't drag a child into this but were left with few choices.

"Come," Ginger insisted, and tugged Djaq's arm once more.

Little John gave the boy a look, then shrugged. "We follow," he stated.

As the boy led the way through the streets, completing the rescue mission in a way that would made the other children green with envy, he made a mental note to himself. He had to ask for a tag before all this was over, after all he did deserve it. That sure would shut the other kids up real good, he thought, and beamed with childish joy in the dusky chaos that was Nottingham town.

---

Nottingham was burning. In a shady tavern the flames flared up and grew into an inferno as though the faces of the men and women were carved from peat.

Arthur Malmstrom was the kind of man who throws judgements as easily as he breathes. He spoke, or rather held speeches, freely using double negotiations of the kind 'I don't want no taxing sheriff' or 'He didn't do naught wrong', and if people didn't listen he gave them a shuffle and continued talking. A man so used to complaining with the righteous indignation of someone being gravely mistreated even at the best of times, didn't really consider the current state of Nottingham a disaster. He considered it an opportunity. People listened to him, they hummed and nodded in agreement and on the table before him the ale never ran dry. People stood gathered around him, and by his side a local drunk called Lot Twittle sat with his stinking arm thrown over Arthur's shoulders.

"Look, I'm asking ye good lads of Nottingham," Arthur said after taking another big sip of ale. "Whose war is this, ay? This isn't no war of noblemen and outlaws, this is a battle for good honest men. We don't need no posh crusader war hero, that one is for them ballads I tell ye. Nay, the lads and lasses of this town, if we don't fight neither the battles of our own nor the battles of the children we raise, then we don't get nothing. Naught! Sure them outlaws are good and all but what have changed since they came, ay? No nothing have changed, we still get taxed and burned and hanged by our necks for not doing naught. We are pawns gentlemen, pawns to nobles and outlaws alike. But no more, I tell ye, we don't take this no more!"

The crowd around him nodded and hummed in agreement.

"My mate Allan-a-Dale," Lot Twittle slurred against Arthur's ear, then seemed to loose track of his thoughts and peered down into an empty cup of ale. "He's not done anything. Good lad 'im," Lot continued sadly. "Good lad."

"Ay," Arthur nodded. "A good lad yet he don't live no more, the sheriff killed him good. And the Black Sheep! It was burned and razed that was. What kind of leader burns their people's homes, ay? Poor Jess Littlelamb didn't do nothing! If that Robin of the Hood is so good then why does this still happen? I'm just asking, me. Nah, that sheriff needs to die I tell ye, that is the one and only way. He cannot live no more if we're to have a future. For them kids on the streets we need to fight this battle, or there won't be no more streets!"

There was a cheer amongst the men and women of the crowd - some drummed their fists against the table and others simply yelled in agreement.

"My mate Arthur," Lot slurred and raised a cup of ale that he stole from the neighbour. "Cheers for 'im, the best of men!"

Nottingham was burning and this was the blazing core. These people were insane, by nature or by temporary weakness. They let their deepest darkest rage and bitterness take over, and thus they put their individual selves into a locked closet and passed over the key to a madman. Men like Lot Twittle felt confused and lost in this chaos, so they made the decision to follow as they always did, and they choose to follow the one with the strongest will. In this moment the strongest will in this room was Arthur Malmstrom, and that was why the streets of Nottingham still burned.

Jess Littlelamb was present as well. She didn't cheer because she was a woman who carried her rage with ice cold serenity, and even though she heard and saw the insanity of these people she had nothing more to loose. She followed them for personal revenge, Lot followed them for ale and company, people followed because they were angry or grieving, because the taxes were too high and the punishments too hard. It is easier to criticize the people trying to solve a problem than to actually solve it, easier to complain than to act. This was a drastic solution, and it spoke to them because it was immediate and forceful. And they didn't think, because even though people are intelligent, crowds are ultimately stupid. The sum of all this thinking power is far smaller than the parts, thus defying the mathematical laws that bind the rest of reality. People in crowds don't think. They follow. They use the actions of other people to justify their own, dismissing reason and ethics because no one else seems to care. The crowd gives acceptance, and sometimes that is all people need to give in to cruelty and destruction. That is the danger of the pack. It is only as wise as its most stupid participant and only as ethical as its most amoral member.

---

Nottingham was burning. But here and there people fled the flames. They tried to escape through the gates that were guarded by ordinary people in the current state of emergency, but found that their old neighbour was harsher than an average guard. So instead they hid, found the calmest corners where the flames didn't hurt so much and curled up together. Afraid like rodents in a lair when the fox was digging through the opening, they trembled and prayed and cried over this unexpected cruelty. To some it seemed like the judgement day was finally here so they begged and begged for forgiveness for every sin they ever committed.

One of these lairs was under Gareth Barber's lodge, an earthy cellar used as storeroom and filled with odd goods. Currently it was occupied by Gareth's family and maid, three outlaws, a ginger-haired lad and Sir Guy's fallen right-hand man who was bleeding all over a fine Indian cotton sheet. Outside on the streets darkness had fallen and a light rain fell over the fizzling town, but down here it was always chilly and just a little bit damp in the air. Ginger stood with his thumb in his mouth and watched with big eyes, refusing to fall asleep from this the most exciting day of his life. The rest of the children slept tucked in under blankets, the youngest one against Mrs Barbers big bosom that rose and sunk with steady breaths. A woman married to a man like Gareth Barber had to be calm and patient, and she used the dreary evening to mend a pair of wool trousers worn thin by her wildest son.

"Here it is," Gareth Barber said, zigzagging his way over to Allan and Djaq with a flask in his hand and a look of loving pride in his red face. The light in the cellar was faint, a yellow flickering from the flames of candles and oil lamps. It smelled strongly of incense from the lamps, mixing up with the raw, damp air and the heavy scent of people. Djaq focused on the incense and tried to ignore the metallic smell of blood that hung in the air around Allan, and reached out to grab the flask.

"Thank you," she smiled, removed the cork and smelled the liquid suspiciously. She felt her nose wrinkle in disgust. You couldn't live on water in England, especially in the towns it was far safer to drink ale, so she had abandoned some of her Saracen ways since coming here. But this wasn't ale. "This is not ale," she pointed out. "It is not wine either."

"Ay, it's the finest fire water, from the far east that is. Couldn't find the likes of it in London or Paris," Mr Barber exclaimed with open pride.

"Yeah well, does it work? That is all I care about really," Allan moaned and cringed as he pulled himself up against the cushions.

"Nothing better for a lad like you," the tradesman in Gareth Barber promoted his ware. "Exotic! Not for any poor sod this, nay it's for the refined, perfect for a bold and adventurous gentleman like yourself."

"If there is alcohol in it and will not kill him then it will have to do," Djaq sighed and put the flask to Allan's mouth. He could drink himself, but the sensation of Djaq's breasts pushing against him when she helped made it seems rather redundant to point that little detail out. He winced when the liquid burned his mouth and throat.

"Wha' is this!?" he whined. "Bleedin' hell, it burns! Are you trying to kill me off mate?"

"Don't worry," Mr Barber gave Allan a cheerful thud on his shoulder. "A couple of sips and you won't feel a thing, ay a miracle of the east that is."

Allan gave the man a suspicious look before he shrugged and decided to give in. Will sat some feet away, his eyes plastered at Allan's face, and Djaq started to examine his cut more thoroughly in the faint light.

"We need a surgeon," she mumbled. "A good one." She seemed to consider the situation for a while, then turned to Will.

"Will, I know it is dark and late, but—"

"—You want me to find a surgeon," he interrupted her and rose from his position.

"Yes," Djaq restrained the panic in her chest and forced her voice to be calm. "You need to hurry. I can buy us time but not all time in the world."

Will nodded and started to walk towards the exit. Little John was already on his way to the monastery to get Robin and Much and he had been waiting for something to do. He hated the silence and stillness in this cellar, hated to watch the tenderness between Allan and Djaq, hated the horrible guilt that ate him up inside. It was a different kind of hate than the one that spurred in the riot that made Nottingham burn, this was a kind of hate that couldn't find solace in actions. He had to live with it, fight it from the inside, run from it.

"Will!"

Will turned before he reached the stairs that led away from this silent hell and looked at Djaq.

"Be careful, Will," she continued and smiled sadly. "Be swift and return soon."

"I will," he mumbled in agreement.

Nottingham was burning. But the flames didn't touch the young outlaw who ran and ran through the chaos to find a surgeon and with that his own redemption. And the flames only burned the back of the big outlaw that ran and ran to bring back his leader and save the world from destroying itself. Around the couple in the cellar there was a ring of fire, but when Djaq held her hand on Allan's chest and pressed the linen strips to his wound in order stop the blood from escaping him, the world seemed still. Her heart was cold with fear, a desperate tranquillity waiting for salvation as the world burned and burned.

_Erase this day. Erase. Rewind. Replay in a different manner_. But the day refused to be erased.


	16. Chapter 16

**I'm not sure how many readers I got left after the horrors of the season finale, but for those of you who still hang in there: I will finish this story and it will have a happy ending.**

**This chapter is less angsty than some of my other chapters, because I really just can't take angst atm--**

**Love,  
Trix**

* * *

Chapter 16:

On friends and fools

The things people do to the things they love. Will felt sick when he rushed through the scarred town of Nottingham and saw the signs of destruction everywhere his eyes had the misfortune to fall. Even as darkness had fallen and the air was chilled people didn't rest. Instead they kept preparing for the Apocalypse, finding ways to exist in this new world, fighting and beating their way ahead. There were_barricades,_ Will realised as he tried to turn left on Potter Street and were met by a pile of sacks and trashed furniture. He let his fingers trail along a fine piece of carved beech wood and the carpenter in him cringed at the sight of the wasted handicraft. Someone had put their soul into this and now it was sticking out from a pile of debris like ribs from a half-eaten carcass.

'Oi, move along lad," a muffled voice came from behind the barricade. "This is our street, you have no business 'ere."

"I only need to get a surgeon," Will burst out. "I'm on your side. Will you let me pass?"

"No one passes 'ere," the voice scoffed. "Leave!"

Will sighed and backed off. He would have to take another way around this, perhaps the next street would be more welcoming. It frustrated him that these people did not merely target the sheriff to stand side by side in a unanimous uproar. Instead they found reasons to take out their rage on everything that upset them. Guards' wives and children, wealthy merchants, anyone too well off or too close to the powers that be, were in peril. The air smelled of smoke from the town square and Will saw the restless orange glow from a fire dancing against the castle wall. _Please let that be the gallows_, he mumbled and started to half-run through the streets again. He was exhausted, his limbs aching and to see the town like this, scarred, burning, destroyed, it _hurt_.

He had to find a surgeon. He had to because Djaq asked him. He had to because this time it was his fault, not Allan's. He would have to take the blame for this and he would have to fix it. It seemed so distant now that this had appeared to be a good solution, to kill Allan, to break Djaq's heart, to play God. Will was no stranger to mistakes. His father had lost his hand and then his life for sticking up for him, and he played his part in the process that made Robin into an outlaw. He even planned to assassinate the sheriff at one point, in a fit of crazed grief. Will smiled bitterly when he remembered the white raging insanity that stripped him clean of all rational thought. No he was no stranger to mistakes, and he could understand these people. Their fury echoed his own, and a part of him wanted to lift the axe from his belt and follow the crowd, fight their battles as if there were no tomorrow.

Yet, the problem was that if they fought this battle and won, then there really wouldn't be a tomorrow. And different part of Will knew this, knew that these people needed to be stopped. By any means necessary. This was the big battle. It was the one he should be fighting, the battle for the world. The thought made him stop dead and stare at the flickering glow against the castle wall. This town burned because of something that he started, or at least aided. He swallowed hard and let his eyes scan the surroundings. Every window shut, every door locked or broken. This was all so futile! He ran up and down these streets in search for a surgeon to save a single life, one that he wasn't sure he even wanted to save! And how did you find anyone in this mess? The people he met were raging ravages, the ones he wanted would be hiding somewhere in a den under all this litter, no one up here was calm enough to help him. You had to be insane to be dancing though this inferno, and every surgeon in Nottingham would have his hands full by now. Will saw more limping, wounded people than healthy ones.

_Every surgeon_, he sighed under his breath. There couldn't be more than two or three to start with. It was like looking for a straw in a stack of needles. Still, he ran and he searched, and he did it with a desperation that he didn't know the source of. Perhaps it was because that even though the fact that Djaq's tender touches were aimed at Allan, something there had touched Will. It was in the way she seemed so very calm and happy, as if she had found her way home somehow. He had never really seen the ancient, aching pain in her before he watched her earlier that evening and realised that it was gone. It was like one of those buzzing sounds that you don't become aware of until they stop. Sure she cried and despaired, but there was serenity under the surface. She seemed softer, and it hurt. It hurt more than he could ever imagine, knowing that he wasn't the source of that softness. But it had also spoken to him in a different way. Watching the tender intimacy that he would never be a part of made his heart beat _let her go_. She didn't want him and he couldn't force her.

So perhaps it was the simple fact that saving Allan would make her happy that made him continue this futile quest. Or perhaps it was because there was a side of Allan that he saw today that he had forgotten. Allan kept silent on those gallows; in spite of not being a man to stand his ground he stood his ground. He could have betrayed Marian but he didn't, and in that silence Will saw the friend he once had. Not who he had been once but who he was still, not a perfect man but one of many faults and mistakes who sill had his heart in the right place. You had to take people like that. Accept who they were and love them in spite of it. The big battles would fail if you ignored the little ones. Everything started with one man.

Will clenched his teeth and walked up to a door he knew belonged to a physician, not a real surgeon but he would be happy to find anyone even remotely skilled in this mess, and started to hammer on it with the handle to his axe. Eventually someone would open. Eventually someone _had to_ open!

"Hello," he shouted. "I need a doctor! Hello! Hello!" He stepped back a few steps and looked up at the windows, throwing a handful of the damp street gravel on a wooden shutter. "I'm with Robin Hood," he yelled in desperation when he didn't get as much as a sign that they heard him. "I need help!"

The guards caught Will by surprise. Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder and he swung around to a face hidden under a buckled helmet. The black feather that decorated the head piece was scruffy and broken and the guard had a bruise across his cheek, yet the face carried a certain amount of smug pride.

"Oh my, look what we got," he smirked and gave Will's cheek a pinch. "Robin Hood's chamber maid--"

The other guard laughed a little bit too loud, and gave the street a nervous scan. These guards were trouble. They weren't merely men doing their jobs, they were men that had been beaten up, terrified and disgraced while doing their jobs, and now searched desperately for revenge. You didn't become a guard in the Sheriff's castle without having a certain fondness of power in the first place. And this was about power, pride and personal retribution. Will stretched his back so that he raised half a head over the guard and looked around him. He was alone on this street. And these guards didn't have any intention of taking him prisoner - in fact they might not even have a prison to take him to any longer. They wanted blood.

"I just need a surgeon," Will tried to reason with them. "I don't want trouble. You could just let me go and no one would know."

"But we can't do that can we? We have a duty you see, and I'm pretty sure you are on the list. Outlaws can be killed on the spot."

"Well you would have to know that I'm an outlaw though," Will pointed out as he searched desperately for a way out. He could run. As long as the streets weren't barricaded he would stand a pretty good chance to outrun them. The guards were laughing at his lame response, as if the sheriff would actually care about working by the rules, and Will took the chance to bend down.

"Oi, wha's e' doin'?" the other guard slurred. He spoke rather incoherent and with a prominent lisp, probably from a forceful blow against his jaw earlier that day.

"I dropped a penny," Will mumbled, then stood up and used the movement to thrust the handle of his axe into the first guards chin. He spun around and slammed the broad side of his weapon against the second guard's helmet, gave the staggering man a shuffle so that he fell down, and then he ran. It took some moments before he heard the clenching iron of the guards following him and he realised how tired he was. His limbs were aching from the desperate search for a surgeon and his breathing was fast and struggling. There was smoke in the air and it tore his lungs, scratched them sore as he ran and panted through the streets. He saw an open door to a yard where he knew the women did their laundry, men were seldom there since the sound of maids gossiping and laughing made them feel uncomfortable. He found himself hesitating before he dashed through the door and was surprised to see the place still filled with gossiping women. They weren't washing as much as preparing for something. Will realised that they had the look of women at war, as angry as the men that filled the streets.

"Guards," he hesitated, to give some sort of explanation to his presence there. The mood amongst the women changed instantly.

"In here boy," one of them hissed and opened a door to a shed. The dusky room smelled strongly of soap and Will's eyes watered as he pressed himself to the wall, and peaked out through a crack in the door with his hand on his axe. There came the guards. He was hardly breathing as he saw the iron-clothed men hesitate as the women closed in on them, forming a menacing circle. Had Will ever seen a school of piranhas attacking a target then the sight of the women would have reminded him of that. First there were two guards in a sort of arena created by the women, and then there weren't anything but a pile of wimples and strong female working-class limbs ferociously ripping and tearing a common victim. Will found himself wince as the sound of the punches reached him, wood against metal, then wood against skin and a helmet rolled out from the heap. Then it seemed to disperse, he saw a glimpse of two grey piles that lay curled up into a trembling foetus position and then some women dragged them out and shut the door to the yard. Will backed off from the door to the shed as he saw the women come up to it, talking and laughing in a kind of ecstatic victory joy. They threw the door open and he walked out.

"We really showed 'em, didn't we?" one of the maids said and got a choir of agreements to answer. "Now, what's a lad like you doing out on your own? Ye should be careful in times like these."

"I'm looking for a surgeon," Will said nervously. "A friend of mine is unwell."

"Ay, him and dozens more," another maid sighed. "That is vain my boy, patch 'im up best you can and pray to God in heaven to spare his pitiful soul."

"But I can't," Will exclaimed. "I can't, it's—" He sighed and shut his eyes. "I'm to blame. This is me, my doing, I got him there." Will spoke fast, stumbled over the words and felt the tears filling up his eyes at the thought of the futility of his quest. "Allan wouldn't be there, this wouldn't happen—"

"Allan?" the maid exclaimed. "His name is Allan?"

"Allan-a-Dale," Will sighed dejectedly. "His name is Allan-a-Dale."

"But why didn't you say so!? That was wrong that, what the sheriff did to 'im! You're not to blame, that was them dark lords' doing, playing God over normal men, giving and taking and taking even more."

Will watched in astonishment as the women started to talk eagerly to each other, rapid conversations erupting here and there in the crowd.

"Oi, gals," one of the elder maids exclaimed and did a sharp whistle to get the attention. "This is how we'll do it. We help the lad to find a surgeon and bring him back 'ere to him. He doesn't stand a chance out there, but we can make it." The women hummed and nodded.

"I can't just stay here," Will complained as he ignored the rush of relief running trough his exhausted body.

"Sure you can, it will make it easier for us to find you. Or you could go to the town square, watch the pyre."

"The pyre!?"

"Ay, they got the Great Hall," a young girl burst out with a proud grin. "My lad Roy, 'e was there when they did it, 'im. Says they got the sheriff tomorrow, it's just a matter of time. Says they'll hang 'im and all, have one of those mock trials and hang 'im high."

"They're burning the furniture," another maid explained. "The chairs and tapestries and stuff."

"But they can't hang the sheriff!" Will exclaimed. "Prince John will raze this town!"

The women watched him in disbelief and he instantly wished he could take the words back.

"Look lad, who's side are ye on anyway?"

"I'm on Robin Hood's side," Will stated firmly.

"Robin Hood? Well that's all good and well then," a maid laughed. "He's a good lad but he lives in the forest him. He doesn't know about this town no more. Nah you listen to us, we'll find you the surgeon and you just stay 'ere. Rest your feet - that is what you lads do best anyway."

There was some amused giggling from the women at the last sentence. Apparently they had some general agreement that men were useless, and Will got a mental snapshot of the kind of conversations they must be having. Complaining about their useless husbands, talking about laundry, complaining about their neighbours' useless husbands—He felt his ears turn red and cleared his throat.

"I'll stay," he mumbled. "But you need to hurry, there isn't much time--"

---

"Look, Djaqie," Allan slurred as he talked, put a hand on Djaq's arm and tugged her closer. "We're in such a bleedin' mess, right? I just—Sometimes it feels like it just gets worse when I try to make it better. So I thought—I thought—Sometimes I think perhaps I should just try to make it worse instead, you know? I just—Do we have any more of that exotic wino?" He lost track of his thought, dropped it half way and started to scan the area for any sign of the bottle.

"We are all out Allan," Djaq sighed, shuffling in the half-empty flask between two barrels and put a hand on his forehead. She rubbed it soothingly and let a smile graze her lips as she felt him relax under her touch. "We are all out."

"Just my luck, ey?" Allan mumbled and smiled rather sentimentally at her. "Djaq— Djaq, my Djaqie, look at you. You're so pretty and stuck with this fool."

"You are not so bad Allan-a-Dale."

"And you're clever too mind you," he grinned and ignored her subtle compliment. "Hiding the bottle when I start to ramble."

"I would do no such thing!" Djaq exclaimed in mock indignation and cocked her eye brows, making her forehead furrow and her mouth stretch into an amused half-smile. Allan looked tired, his rather drunken grin was faint and half-hearted and Djaq wished that he would show her his worry instead of hiding it behind his normal mannerisms. Will still wasn't back and Allan's heart pumped more blood out of the wound with every necessary beat. It had to beat for him to live and yet the beats were slowly killing him, draining him of life. She suppressed the panic and forced a smile, almost bursting into laughter when she realised that she too was hiding her worry.

"Allan," she hesitated, heard how the mood between them changed with her tone of voice. "If Will doesn't come--"

"I'll die?" It was difficult to hear if it was a statement or a question, his voice was firm but the eyes looked quizzical and a bit lost as if he wished her to contradict him.

Djaq swallowed and nodded, her eyes filling with tears. "I'm not good with goodbyes," she said, her voice trembling and weak. "I avoid them but they are always there."

"Nah but no one is good with goodbyes though."

"No—But I am really bad." Djaq gave out a short, hoarse laughter "Trust me."

"Look," Allan grinned. "I know you'll miss me sweetheart. Now, where did that wine go?" He started to fumble around him again, vainly looking for the hidden beverage. _Not so good with goodbyes yourself, are you Allan-a-Dale?_

"No more wine for you," Djaq smiled tenderly. "It will not help the pain."

"Nah but it will pass the time."

"Oh, my company bores you, does it?" She cocked her eyebrow and gave his shoulder a light shuffle.

"Being stuck in this bloody cellar bores me. Smells funny 'ere if you ask me."

Djaq sniffed in the air and had to admit he had a point - even though it was shared with some effort. His voice was slurry and mumbling as he spoke, his gestures clumsy and exaggerated. It was difficult to place the many odours that mixed together in here; food from far away places, the smell of humans crammed together, and the earthy scent of being underground – musky in a way that reminded of Sherwood but with a putrid undercurrent. Djaq wrinkled her nose and shifted her attention to Allan's wound. She had given him some stitches to keep the worst blood loss under control but it was still pulsating under her hand.

"I'm not good with goodbyes," she said again and took a deep breath. "But I want you to know, I will never be ashamed of admitting that I loved Allan-a-Dale."

Allan looked at her, the worry in his eyes became a cheeky grin filled with gratitude and he tugged her closer, sucking on to the soft alluring lips. They were still lost in a shallow lingering kiss when the door to the cellar was opened and Will Scarlet tumbled into the darkness. They turned to him, eyes questioning as they stared at the opening.

"You are alone!" Djaq exclaimed and Will swallowed, the Adams apple moving nervously.

"No," he said. "Girls you can come now."

Allan and Djaq stared at the opening as it got filled with a stream of women, all dressed in plain working clothes and shuffling a elderly man in from of them.

"This is Roger Carnac," Will explained and made a gesture towards the man. "He is—He was a field surgeon. Once."

The old man made his way trembling into the room, leaning on one of the women and stumbling over every little bump on the uneven floor.

"Djaq," Allan mumbled. "I'm not 'aving that old prune carving in me, not for all the wine in Nottingham."

"It was the best I could do," Will continued, looking a bit embarrassed as he sensed the hesitant mood in the room. "He used o be good they say—"

"Yeah?" Allan exclaimed. "Not being funny but I used to be a toddler but I don't see that happening again any time soon. He's bloody ancient! And who are the lasses?"

"Are they his harem?" Djaq asked disbelieving.

"No—they are just some girls who wanted to help," Will mumbled and Allan grinned at him.

"Oh, well done mate! Not the most glamorous bunch mind you, but when it comes to lasses quantity rather outranks qual—" Allan let his voice trail off as he met Djaq's ice cold glare. "Oi look, that's single thinking, Djaqie. Honestly! I wouldn't touch 'em with pair of tweezers. Will on the other hand—I'm just saying, he's young, he needs practice—"

"Allan," Djaq interrupted him. "I love you but please shut up."

"Riiighteoo," the old surgeon said and fell down beside Allan with considerable effort. He was the kind of man that made more meaningless noise than actual words when he spoke, prolonging the sentences until they seemed stretched out and almost deformed. "Um—hmmmm let's sss—ssee —M-hmmm—mm—And —ah I seee, well oh well." He continued to mumble nothings as he examined the wound, poking in it with some sort of long blunt needle and Allan moaned before he dozed off from the pain. The maids stood on a circle around the operation, silently staring in wonder, and Djaq got a feeling of being involved in some sort of public entertainment, probably something in the line of exorcism. As time went by she moved her attention to completely to the wound, watched the surgeon's skill with some admiration while trying to ignore the occasional fumbling moves made by his trembling hands. After a while it Allan disappeared from her mind and became nothing but a project, a wound to be healed, a problem to be solved. Bit by bit they patched him up, stopped the vessels from leaking and stitched everything together. When they were finally done Allan still breathed rather steadily and for the first time for days Djaq allowed herself to relax. The exhaustion washed over her before she could stop it and she let herself rest, curling up beside Allan's sleeping body. A human is aware enough in sleep to wake if there is anything alarming in her surroundings, and thus Djaq let herself be lulled by Allan's comforting breathing. The world faded around her and deep under the chaos of the rioting city, like an animal hibernating in a lair, she slid down onto a comfortable haze.

---

Allan woke from the dull, aching pain in his side, let out a low groan and shot his eyes open. It was dark in the cellar now, silent in a way only isolated rooms can be. The noises from the town were dulled by the surrounding earth that seemed to devour sound, let it disappear into the layers of soil. He stared into the darkness while his sight adjusted to the faint light and felt the chilly air on his eyes, as the dusk turned into grey shapes where a flickering orange glow danced restlessly. There was a movement and he turned to his left, instantly gazing into the two black pools that were Will Scarlet's eyes.

"Does it hurt?" Will mumbled, his lips strained and his movements tense.

"Nah, it's nothing," Allan responded and cringed as Will gave him a shuffle that seemed rather intentional.

"Sorry," he murmured through clenched teeth and sat down beside Allan with a sigh.

"Nice isn't it?" Allan grinned. "Sitting 'ere just you and me. Like the good old days, right?"

Will snorted and cocked his eye brow. "You really think it is that easy don't you?" he sneered edgily. "You get a knife through your body and—boom. Allan-a-Dale is a redeemed man, everything forgotten just like that--"

"Well," Allan hesitated. "You helped me though didn't you? Got to mean something that. Aye?"

"It only means we wouldn't see you killed! It doesn't mean everything is back to where we started. It can't just go back to where we started, Allan, it is too late!"

"Oi, give me a break," Allan moaned. "I'm dying 'ere!"

"You look alive enough to me—A bit pale."

"Yeah well, perhaps black doesn't suit me," Allan snapped.

"You should have though about that before."

"Yeah?" Allan stared at Will. "You should 'ave though before too, though. Do you really think you're that much better than me after all this? Anyway, I'm pretty sure I'm out of job now, thanks to your little prank."

Will took a deep breath and shut his eyes, restraining the anger that Allan could see in him.

"It's all about her isn't it?" Allan continued wearily and Wills body seemed to freeze.

"Yes," the younger man finally answered. "It's her I think. She makes it hard to think properly." The two men turned to look in tender admiration at the little Saracen girl who lay curled up on the floor. Allan had his fingers entangled in the black curls, her hair a dark nest as the head was titled down and rested on a loosely clenched hand. There was a hint of some dark lashes that brushed against her skin while the eyes moved with rapid twitches, fluttering like butterfly wings as she dreamt. She snored softly and shifted her position so that the eyes disappeared down behind the hand and the mass of ragged black curls.

"Yeah," Allan agreed. "I had a job you know. Giz paid pretty well, I've never had a future like that before."

Will snorted. "He is evil!"

"Yeah well he got his good sides," Allan shrugged. "She is worth it though, isn't she? I mean, my mom always used to say love don't pay no taxes. But well—we never paid any taxes anyway so I don't know why she bothered to teach me that—Funny woman."

Will couldn't help smiling and in a moment he was overthrown by the realisation that in a way they really were back where they started. There was a wall of jealousy between them, but in the very same emotion that caused that split there was something that bound them together. They understood each other in this, Djaq was their common ground and they had to find their peace on the same battle field where they had fought their silent war. In this they both had made mistakes, for love of her they both behaved like fools. It would hurt but Will would learn to live with this broken heart because he loved these people. He loved both of them. Right in this moment his most feared enemy was also his dearest friend, the one that stood closest to him.

Allan and Will both sat in silence, slowly getting used to the old friendship that had been so important to them once, when the door to the cellar was thrown open. Gareth Barber's eldest son Gavain practically fell into the room, dashing down the stairs while panting violently. There was a hint of sunlight coming from the open door so it must me morning outside, and the town that never really slept that night was now wide awake.

"Wake up wake up!" Gavain yelled, giving his father's belly a rather forceful kick before he started to tug his mother's hand, forcing her up into sitting position. "Everyone wake up!!!"

The cellar started to move as the grey shapes became human bodies that stretched and yawned. Most of the maids were gone but some savoured the serenity in this dark place and had lingered here over night, and thus people had practically slept on top of each other.

"Gavain you foolish boy, what is it? Is your bum on fire?!" Gareth Barber hissed, annoyed about being so rudely awoken.

"No—no father," Gavain panted. "I come with news, everyone should hear them news dad! All over the town they scream—"

"What? What do they scream?"

"They scream," Gavain took a deep sigh and scanned the room, staring at the eyes that were wide open in awe or anticipation. "The sheriff," he finally exclaimed. "Sheriff Vaysey has been caught and they all say he will hang at dusk!"


	17. Chapter 17

**Finally!!! Here comes the final chapter + epilogue.**

**A lot of R/M, probably due to the season finale-- Thanx for reading/commenting.**

**Enjoy  
Trix**

* * *

Chapter 17:

What myths are made of

It had been ordered by the abbess that a sister should be by Lady Marian's side, every hour save those moments that required all the sisters gathered on a different location. Thus there was a constant mumbling of Latin prayers in the sick-room, rhythmically broken by the rustling from a rosary and from time to time overshadowed by a short whispering conversation between the two lovers. Even as Marian got better Robin did not dare leave her side, he sat watching her sleeping form as a hawk, noting every sign of distress with irrational worry. In fact she was getting better, considerably so, and the sisters assured him the bleeding was under control. Her pale cheeks had some of their rosy complexion back, and she had periods when she was awake when he could loose himself in the dozy blue eyes. Robin had been glad for the sisters' company in the beginning, when Marian was pale and wobbling on the very brink of death he savoured the comforting mumbling that had an almost hypnotic effect. However now that Marian was waking up their company was not so welcome, and as Sister Etienne let another pearl on the rosary slide through her fingers she could practically hear the young man grinding his teeth over her presence.

There were nuns that became nuns because it had been chosen for them, that lived their lives in the convent much like they would have lived their life in the outer world. Although every man and woman knew that God did in fact exist the same way that the sun existed (and circled around Earth) not everyone was pious and obedient. Even inside God's house there were people that made a rather earthly career out of their position rather than threw themselves into worship and prayers.

Sister Etienne Lacroix, however, was certainly not one of those. She was a woman of strict religious conviction that had frozen her features into a constant air of dissatisfaction. Her lips wrinkled as if she had bitten down on a lemon whenever she puckered them in discontent, and her forehead seemed constantly split by a deep furrow between the bushy eyebrows.

Now the nun pursed her lips and sucked on her teeth before she inhaled for another Ave Maria. Her eyes were watching the couple cautiously, the man's hands resting on the edge of the woman's bed only inches from her body, their eyes locked into each other with those faint smiles never fading. She knew that some of the other sisters cared little about the couple's intimacy, but she was not so light hearted. He had gotten her into this mess, leading the poor girl on and shuffled her down the path to hell. Now three souls had been doomed, one of an unborn child and these two fools that had the nerve to keep _smiling_. If they had any sense they would take up the cloth, life a chaste life apart from each other and spend their days trying to repent and save their immortal souls. But instead they savoured this short, fickle, earthly life like the lost spirits they were. There was lust in the young man's eyes when he watched his beloved, sinful craving that the abbess didn't have the guts to condemn, but at least they would not get the chance to taint the monastery on Sister Etienne's watch.

Sister Etienne was pious and strict. Thus she considered every touch that passed between this couple nothing less than an abomination, an offence to God in his perfect heaven. She clenched her bony and around the rosary and gave the man another severe look. His fingers were edging closer to Lady Marian's hand that rested relaxed on top of the rough linen sheets, their fingertips moving like spider legs and bumping into each other. The feather light touch made the grin in Robin's face grow and it was mirrored in Marian's like some foul reflection.

There was an annoyed hawking sound as Sister Etienne cleared her throat and made a pause in the mumbling prayers, lifted her head and gave the couple a sharp glare. Robin's hand shied away almost instantly, withdrew to where it rested on the edge of the bed again, and he straightened up with a blush on his cheeks.

"Sorry Sister," he murmured and Sister Etienne noted that Lady Marian turned away her head in something annoyingly like amusement.

For a while the only sound was the mumbling prayers, a bit sharp and displeased as the rosary ran swiftly through the sister's fingers.

"Robin," Marian finally said, and there was a pause in the Latin as the nun cocked her head to give the couple a wary glance.

"Yes, my love."

"I'm—you do not resent me? For what I did?"

"Marian—"

"Robin, we need to talk about this! Properly—there is so much guilt."

Sister Etienne cocked her eyebrows and her voice rose into a high-pitched whining, the tone trembling and sharp like a knife's edge. She did not quite approve of this conversation, but then again there was very little in this world that she approved of.

"Marian I could never resent you!" Robin answered, rapid upset words spoken with conviction that would be better used in church. "Sometimes life makes you do things—things that are beneath you. Horrible things—I have seen the act of warfare, trust me Marian. There is darkness in the best of men."

"And you?"

"What?"

"You do not resent yourself either?"

Sister Etienne looked up and glanced at the young man. His head was cut off by the brim of her wimple but she could see that he was uncomfortable. His movements were tense and he leaned back, putting a distance between himself and the woman as he sighed and looked at the ceiling, the floor, the wooden cross on the wall – anywhere but directly into Marian's eyes.

"Robin!"

"Marian, I did this to you," he burst out, then glanced at the sister and lowered his voice to a hushed tone that didn't echo through the room. "I did this—"

"No Robin, _we_ did this."

"But I should have known better!"

"Why? Because you're the man?"

"Yes! As a matter of fact!"

Marian sighed and let her head relax down into the pillow in a way that looked annoyed and frustrated.

"Robin," she continued and her neck tensed as he lifted her head slightly to stare at her lover. "If we do not forgive ourselves then our love will be doomed! You being outlawed may not part us, nor Guy of Gisbourne's misdirected affection or even a Holy War. But guilt can."

Sister Etienne cleared her throat and threw herself into a Padre Nostrum that came out loud and snappy. Guilt was a sensation that could save their souls from the worst depths of eternal damnation, they _needed_ guilt and regret. Yet the words made Robin's forehead furrow in thought, and he relaxed on the hard wooden stool.

"We have made mistakes have we not?" he murmured. "Both of us—"

"All humans make mistakes, ours may be severe but we cannot let them be unforgivable," Marian smiled and put her hand on his, gripping around his fingers. The nun tensed and straightened, interrupting the prayers as she reached out to part their bodies from each other even though the touch was restricted to the hands and would be chaste in any other setting.

"This is a house of the Lord," she snapped. "Show respect!"

The couple reluctantly moved away from the touch again, sighing like chastised children. Then the door was practically thrown open and a huge man blocked the opening, sweaty and flushed as he drew painfully strained breaths in order to get some air into his lunges. The hair was a dirty, tangled mess, his features coarse and savage, and Sister Etienne found her self gasping for air at this—this _apparition_.

"John!" Robin exclaimed, taking the chance to grab Marian's hand when the nun was occupied by the intruder. "What is wrong?"

"The—" the big man wheezed and removed the cap he had on his head at the sight of the nun. "Forgive me sister," he mumbled. "The—Nottingham—Nottingham Robin!!!"

"Nottingham?" Robin frowned and looked worried, pushed Marian's hand tightly and wouldn't let it go when the nun wrinkled her nose in discontent and started to tug them apart again.

"Yes! Nottingham!" Little John panted and took a deep breath. "There is a riot and you need to stop it Robin. Before everything is doomed!"

---

Sheriff Pippin Vaysey was not a brave man. He was comfortable on the top, behind guards and castle walls he was strong and powerful, a man made to lead armies as long as he didn't actually have to take the lead. But now he found his world was shrinking like boiled wool cloth around him, and with every inch of his realm that was lost so was a part of his strength. He had been pushed back, gradually confined to his quarters where he was currently locked up with the choir of chirping birds and Sir Guy who was sweating like a pig.

"Gisbourne it has never occurred to you to take a bath every once in a while, hm?" he sneered. "You will pass into history as Gizzy the Sissy, the one who wetted himself in the face of danger."

Gisbourne opened his mouth to protest against the accusations, but instead he simply rolled his eyes and restrained a loud sigh. He was used to being treated like this, the sheriff took out every failure on him but never praised him for the successes, and he had long since given up any hope for respect. You could force people that were your inferiors into respecting you, but those who were above you were not so easily won. There was a loud crash as a stone was plunged through the window and shattered it into the room. A cheer rose on the caste yard and Vaysey moved away form the opening.

"Giz, go take a look!" He yelled. "Those fools are ruining my castle!"

Gisbourne drew his sword, an act that was redundant this far from the enemy yet made him feel sheltered and safe, and inched towards the window.

"There seems to be a pyre, my lord," he mumbled.

"A pyre!? What? What are they doing, Gisbourne, what are they burning?"

Gisbourne squinted into the early light and watched the dark shapes that practically danced in joy as they fed new items to the fire.

"Looks like the tapestries from the southern hall my Lord-- chairs from the breakfast room—"

"What? No, no not my tapestries— My beautiful tapestries!"

"With all due respect sir," Guy snapped. "I think the tapestries are the least of our concerns!"

"Really? What more are they burning? Not my high chair?!"

"No— No, the chair is fine—" The high chair stood on the middle of the castle yard and in it a fat, red-faced man sat casually swinging one leg over the edge and the other tucked in under him. They were openly mocking the sheriff, yet that was of little importance. "The chairs and tapestries come from this side of the castle," Guy continued, deciding not to tell Vaysey about the chair. "They must be at our door—"

Hardly had those words been spoken before there was a loud cracking noise as something was thrust hard into wood, and the two men turned to the door. It was bulging from the pressure, shaking with every new hit that was preceded by a muffled 'ho-hey!' from the men on the other side. Vaysey and Guy stood side by side watching the door give away, Guy's sword half-heartedly raised in some sort of defence. Guy had not planned to die for the Sheriff, he didn't even_ like_ the man. If he had any feelings towards him it was loathing, and in the end he had only been standing by his side for personal gain. Now the door cracked and the crazed townspeople almost tumbled into the room, triumphantly cheering and grinning over the victory. Guy lifted the sword at them and got some amused sniggers.

"Look who's defending his lover," a young woman taunted Guy in a shrill voice and was followed by a choir of ragged laughers. "I bet you're the man in the relationship big boy, isn't that right? Ay, I can always tell, female intuition that is. I tell you what, let down that nasty sword and you may remain a man." She gave Guy a grin filled with crooked yellow teeth, pointy and sharp like fangs, and he found himself lower the weapon. What use was a sword when they were so many and some of them carried hayforks?! Guy and Vaysey were surrounded by angry, mocking people, jeering and heckling them in the bold light of this new power balance. The sword looked pathetic in Guy's hand, an iron blade that hung limp against his dejected shape and dangled like an image of scorned manliness.

"Lads, lads, lads," one of the men said and made a gesture for the crowd to calm down. "Now that our goal is reached, the villains captured, it will only be fair to give this men the same treatment that they have granted us, aye?"

The crowd fell silent down and waited in anticipation for what this temporary leader was about to say next.

"A fair trial it is then," the man laughed. "And our conscience will be clean as a privy when they hang at dusk!!!"

---

Save Nottingham. Save England. Save the king. Save the whole bloody world! But who saves the hero, who rides so fiercely through Sherwood Forest, who dashes through the bushes and leaps over the streams? Who saves the saviour whose head is whipped by green leaves and wet with morning dew as it scrambles for a solution that eludes him? His head his heavy from lack of sleep and his heart lingers with the love he left behind. The memory of her eyes is still fresh before him, her hand still rests softly under his, warm with life in spite of everything. He rides because she asked him, begged him to be a hero when he wanted to me merely a man. To love a hero is no easy thing - it takes a special kind of woman. And to love that kind of woman is worse still. All she had to do was ask him to stay, but she would not be Marian if she did and Robin would not be Robin Hood if he didn't dash through the bushes vainly pondering a way to save the world yet again. He only had snippets of the truth, puzzled it together from the random words of little John who only knew snippets himself and kept them in a disorganised mess in his simple mind. So Nottingham was falling fast from the pressure of its own fury, but who was he to tell these people to stop fighting when their fight was righteous? They doomed themselves with a war that would be lost if it was won! All in all there is nothing harder than saving a person from herself, no good deed quite as ungrateful as the one where the victim and the perpetrator is the same.

_The man I love wouldn't sit and hold my hand when England needed saving!_Marian's words still rung in Robin's ears, and they stung because in their passion they planted the possibility that perhaps Robin could not be who she wished him to. Somehow Robin Hood had grown into something bigger than the mere man behind the name, a concept that left him with a feeling of alienation and inadequacy during the long lonely nights. When he spoke to Marian about darkness in men it was himself he spoke about, the Robin that was battle weary and worn out by the horrors of his short life. But then there was her, the woman he needed like a castaway needs the debris that carries him to the beach. He drew energy from her, used her to make his life bearable and his battles meaningful. She gave him hope and faith and made him believe that perhaps he wouldn't fail in this futile mission, perhaps there was a way to save Nottingham from being razed to the ground. She was the one who saved the hero.

----

On the streets of Nottingham there was a feast or a war, a festive war or a feast gone feisty. On the streets of Nottingham there was dancing and fighting, drinking and kissing, laughing and quarrelling. On these streets people lived in limbo, where there were no laws but instead a semi-structured chaos with few restrictions.

Will Scarlett shuffled his way ahead surrounded by the maids in their linen kerchiefs, trying to make some sense out of the surrounding mess. These were people, normal people, his kind of people. Surely they wouldn't be impossible to reason with! Yet they seemed so crazed, confused, dejected, euphoric— He could feel himself tremble, the nerves seemed to have crawled out of his skin and sparkled like burning pine needles, and in this moment he felt alone in a way he had never felt before. Djaq and Allan were still in the cellar, Robin, Much and Little John were God knows where—On their way here? He hoped they were because he had no control over this inferno, he needed help desperately. Any sane man in an insane world will soon start to doubt his own sanity, since sanity exists in numbers and our fellow humans are the meter on which we measure ourselves.

Will stopped when he saw the gallows before him, once again surrounded by a sea of people. But this time the men on the platform were Sheriff Pippin Vaysey and his right hand man Guy of Gisbourne. Will gasped for air as he watched their shackles, bound to hands and feet and let to the slaughterhouse. How often he had wished to see them like this! The sight made something stir in his chest, a joy over the victory even though he knew it to be fatal. There was a self-appointed jury that scorned and humiliated the two men, a jester conducting a mock trial that drowned in the roaring from the crowd. It might as well be a pantomime; his movements were exaggerated into absurdity as he caricatured the sheriff. The jokes were sexual and crude in the manner that was fashionable during this time and place, hardly refined but bold and profuse. They spurred on waves of roaring laughers from the crowd and Will heard a choir of sharp giggles from the maids that still accompanied him. Robin would have to come or they would hang the sheriff – _they were actually hanging Sheriff Vayse_y

---

Robin dashed through the city gates as the sun was sinking towards the dying of the day. The streets were eerily abandoned and seemed hollow like a ghost town, drained of life, with the shadows long and menacing. The soft ground of the forest was replaced by the hard stone paving of the main street and every step echoed through the town. It smelled like smoke and he could hear the slightly muffled sound of distant laughers spurring him on. There were random people first, standing some distance from the gallows with wary expressions in their faces, and Robin threw himself off the horse. He got a couple of curious looks as he started to press himself into the crowd, pushing and shuffling people that pushed and shuffled back.

"Robin!"

Robin spun around, or rather forced his body to squeeze past two heavily built townspeople until he was turned to the voice.

"Will!" He took a deep breath and forced himself through another tiny gap in the crowd, got a sharp elbow thrust into his side and moaned from the pain. "Will—" he panted. "Will what is happening?"

"Well, they are hanging the sheriff—"

"Yes I can see that! Why? No—Do not bother with the 'why', they have reasons enough—Little John said Allan was wounded. I for one do not care but he seemed to find it important. I do not understand this!"

"He helped us Robin—Allan helped us. Anyway he will live. Marian?"

"Marian," Robin nodded and a smile grazed his lips in spite of the dire situation. "She too will live."

"Robin," Will gave his friend an honest smile and pulled him into the kind of rough, back-thudding hug men give each other. "I am so happy for you my friend."

"Marian is saved," Robin still smiled sheepishly as he spoke of Marian, but the grin faltered and faded when he continued. "Allan—you say he is back with us and is saved. For that I am glad—" He sighed and stared at the gallows where the jester still made rude gestures at Guy and the Sheriff, the former was red by rage and the latter stared into the sky in a sort of dejected curse at the world in general. "For the ones we have to save now I am not so glad," he finished in a mumbling voice.

"No—" Will agreed. "But it has to be done."

He was right. It had to be done. But how?! People weren't listening to the mock trials so why would they listen to him? How did one man quench a roaring forest fire, or how did a single cupped hand force the mighty river to change direction? _How?!_ "How," he breathed out and stared at the mass of rioting people. "How can I stop this?! I am but one man!"

"No," Will shook his head. "I am but one man, you are Robin Hood - people will listen to you!"

"Will they?" Robin laughed hoarsely and shrugged. "This is like no war I have fought, Will. Wars have leaders, to a certain extent they are controlled and organized—This is something else! This is—How can I stop this?!"

"You have to try Robin—"

Robin sighed and nodded. He had to try. He was Robin Hood, it was his job to try the impossible and still live to see another disaster. He looked at the people that had started to chant some sort of popular tune where the words were hazy and slurred by the uncoordinated choir and the melody was a mere suggestion. He was still in the periphery. To get the attention he needed to be in the middle, right in the blazing centre and cool it off from there.

"Will," he exclaimed. "I want you to spread the word. Get it into people's heads that they can stop this, that the town they love will be razed if they don't. Don't waste time arguing with the unarguable, go for the ones that listen and secure their help."

Will nodded severely. "And you?"

"Me—" Robin sighed wearily and focused his eyes on the scene at the gallows. "Me, I'm heading right into the pyre, and so help me God—"

---

This was the day that went to Nottingham history as the Day of the Final Stand. In hymns and ballads the leaders of the rebellion were praised for years, the Friendly Lot Twittle and Arthur the Wellspoken were sung about like heroes of the olden days. But in time the memory of the rebellion faded and when the ones that were children on this day got old, they did not mention Lot or Arthur or even Jess Littlelamb. Neither did they talk of the maids and the young man that bit by bit calmed the rebellion from the outside, made the edges of the riot ragged as people hesitated and withdrew. The one image that stayed in their minds was the one of a scruffy outlaw with a strangely curved bow ("Magical it was, the bow of his. Could hit a man right in the heart two miles away."), who leaped up onto the platform with one swift jump. For a while he seemed to fly ("His feet didn't touch the ground, nay, neither did hand nor knee.") as he swung himself on the gallows and landed gracefully in front of the self-appointed jury. The crowd hesitated for a while, saw him take his bow and put an arrow to the string, and one by one the people fell silent by the power of curiosity.

"I," The man spoke and released the arrow so that it went in a perfect arch and hit the wooden beam of a building. "—am Robin Hood." He put another arrow to the string, released it and the people watched in awe as the second arrow hit the exact same spot as the first one and made it break and fall down ("You could have used them pieces as toothpicks so tiny they were!"). "And you," he continued as he had the full attention of the puzzled and curious crowd. "—are the people of Nottingham. The building that my arrows hit is your building. These burning streets are your streets. Perhaps you think I cannot understand how you have suffered, but you are wrong. I too have had my life stolen from me by these men, and trust me when I say, that I hate no one more—" He seemed to hesitate, took a deep breath and continued with renewed strength. "Hate no one more than these men you are about to hang!"

There were cheers from the crowd and some random applauds.

"But," Robin Hood continued addressing the crowd. "Even though these villains are right to hang, the time for that is not today— No! People of Nottingham, do not drown my words in complaints! Listen to me! I am Robin Hood, I fight for you. Like I once served the rightful King of this country I now serve every single man and woman that walks these streets. I beg you to listen to me!"

("And ay, we listened alright," the stories went. "He was Robin Hood after all. He could split an arrow into two!")

"If you hang this man today then this town is doomed. Even though your intentions are well, and right, and just, you steal away your children's future if you hang the sheriff," the heroes voice echoed over a town that was perfectly silent now. "I almost lost someone the other day—Someone dear to me, someone I would do anything for. My Nottingham, if you will. My home. My love. And yet she nearly died for _my_ mistakes. We acted out of love and affection, much like you act out of love—Love to your town, your families—Everyone that has been abused and mistreated. But even when the intentions are good the results may not be!!! You cannot act without regarding the consequences."

The people listened to the pleading words of Robin Hood as he begged them, from the smallest child to the oldest widow, to consider the consequences there and then. ("And then he asked us—Every single one of us. And we listened we did! Saved the town—every single one that was there saved the town that day. We were all heroes!")

All in all it all starts with one man or woman, and a crowd is ultimately only the sum of its parts. Somewhere in his words there were things that got stuck in the minds of the listeners. He spoke of his own mistakes, of the Holy Land, the king, his love, his friends. He spoke of the world as you wished it to be and the world as it was – two things entirely different from each other. He spoke of loss and sacrifice and in the end his voice was hoarse and the people in the crowd suddenly realised how tired they were. They started to disperse and head home, saw the town around them with new eyes as a man may regard the forest differently when he leaves it, as opposed to when he stands in the middle of it. Some furious people still remained on the streets when the Sheriff and his right hand man managed to get back into the castle, for the first time scared stiff of the populous. Very few heard the last words Robin Hood spoke to the sheriff, but in time they made their way into the stories and hymns all the same.

"You have seen the wrath of your people," Robin Hood hissed. "You know what they can do if they are driven too far. Next time they will not listen to reason and I will not bother to stop them. Go home, Vaysey. Go home and dig deep in your silver chests, because this will cost you. You have a town to rebuild. Never forget this Sheriff; on this day Robin Hood saved your life."

And on that day, the stories said, more lives were saved than the cleverest of friars could count to. The people went home and choose life instead of revenge, cared for their children, went to bed and made love to their spouses, started to clean up the mess in their houses. Robin took his bow and went down to Will, gave him a thud on the back and crawled up on his horse again, only to slide down the other side from mere exhaustion. All over town people slept and Robin and Will found a place in Gareth Barber's cellar where they curled up and dozed off. When morning came it was a new day, and for the first time in a very long time the world wasn't about to shatter into pieces.

---

When Robin stepped into Marian's room in the monastery she was dressed and packed, stood steady by the window and gazed out with her hand resting lightly on the frame. She had a troubled frown in her face before he made himself known and he studied her with worry.

"Are you leaving?" he finally asked softly and leaned casually to the wall.

Marian twitched and turned to him, and in an instant the frown disappeared and gave away to a smile.

"Yes—" she responded. " I need to get back to the castle."

"No!"

"Robin my father—"

"Is not there. I made sure he was released during the chaos."

The forced smile on Marian's lips turned into something like genuine joy and gratitude and Robin felt his heart up its pace. She could not leave for the castle! Not now! He suppressed the urge to rush up to her and shake some sense into this stubborn woman, his restrained movements tense.

"Still so—I am useful in there Robin."

"Marian, I know you think you are the rational one—" Robin bit his lip and hesitated. This would be a difficult conversation, yet he knew he had to try. He threw out his hands and walked to her, putting his palms gently on her shoulders. "—and you are right. You are—you are rational, and brave, and strong. But I am not." He looked at her, big pleading eyes, forcing himself to be vulnerable because he needed it to reach her. "I need you," he continued in a trembling voice. "I need you to be with me—be by my side. I do not wish to look back on us with regret, Marian. I know you think it is best to be always rational, but you are wrong. You cannot lift the world while you are falling, my love. And that is why I need you—"

"Robin—"

"—you are the one that lifts_ me_ up."

"Robin!" Marian exclaimed. "We fight the same war yet you make it sound like_you_ are my cause, that I am here just to make your battles easier—"

"No, I am not saying that," Robin sighed and tried to calm his racing heart. Right now _this_ seemed like the hardest battle he had ever fought, and he felt like he was fighting with his own soul at stake. If he lost her, then every single moment that they had spent apart would have been a wasted moment, every heartbeat without her would be a heartbeat in vain, and every single day in solitude would have its memory tainted by eternal regret. "Just—do you not need me?" he asked cautiously, they way a person poses a question he's not so sure he want the answer to. "Are you so strong that you are rather on your own? Because look where it has brought us."

"You do blame me—" Marian looked dejected, took a step away from him and he reached out to stop her and tug her back into his arms.

"No!" he exclaimed. "If anything I blame myself. But we are in this together and we need to stand together." Robin pulled Marian closer, cradled her and rested his head on hers. "I am stronger with you than I am without you, and if you could listen to that voice I know you have deep inside you, then perhaps you could allow yourself to accept that you are stronger with me as well. My love—" He swallowed and inhaled the scent of her hair, a bit flowery from the bath and slightly smoky. "I am begging you not to abandon me."

Robin felt Marian tense at the last sentence. It was spoken so softly, hardly anything more than a trembling whisper, but it seemed louder than any coaxing words or stubborn arguments passed between them. Marian was used to being strong and independent but she was not without weaknesses. How could she deny him what he wanted when she shared that longing with every desperate inch of her soul?

"It is difficult to say no to you—"

"Then say yes!"

A couple of seconds passed in silence, Robin could feel Marian trying to answer him and his heart sunk, dreading what she was going to say. If she still declined then he would have no choice but to let her go back to the castle. And she would decline. She always declined his help when he offered it.

Marian inhaled deeply, buried her face against his shoulder and blew out a warm puff of air that went through the cloth in his shirt. Robin felt a shudder run through his body, suddenly painfully aware of how soft and alluring she was and how good it felt to feel her nearness. She cast a spell over him, this stubborn brave woman, but it was a spell that ripped his senses clean. With her he lost control, for her he would sacrifice everything, and if there was one thing in this world that could plunge him into heaven or hell then it was she. Her power over him frightened him, his need for her was so strong it left him naked and defenceless. "Then say yes—" he murmured again, whispered it into her hair and wished his pleading would not simply pass right through her.

Marian cocked her head and met his eyes, planted a tantalizing kiss on his lips and smiled faintly. "Yes—" she answered silently.

"You will come to the forest?" Robin forced back the smile, swallowed the cheer that went through him like a shock and made his skin itch and tingle.

"Yes, I will come to the forest."

_She said yes!_ Robin pushed back the smile but felt it tug his lips into some sort of sheepish half-grin and reached out to pull her closer. He felt her body tumble against him and fall into his embrace as easily as if it had been made for her, crafted to fit every curve on her body. Her hand clenched around the cloth in his shirt when his lips found hers and he felt his head become light and hazy as her touch scratched his skin. His mind was overpowered by memories of their night together, the taste of her salty skin, the feeling of her back to his palms that curved and arched up against him, the sensation of—He shut his eyes and pulled her closer with a low moan, burying his head against her neck with slow sucking kissed that he knew would make her tense and gasp for air. There was a trace of guilt, a nagging feeling of being out of line. He was playing with the very same triggers that had put them here in the first place, and still she was so willing to follow him there again. Her hand moved down to his belt and made its way in under his shirt, grazing the naked skin on his chest lightly as if her fingers were feathers dancing in a gentle breeze. Robin clenched his teeth and forced his hands away from her, using every inch of his will power to put his palms on her shoulders and push her away from him.

"Marian, in time—" he heard himself say behind the violent beating of his heart. Marian smiled and tugged back her hand from under his shirt, putting it around his neck to pull his head down to hers until their lips met again.

"In time—" she mumbled with a smile. "We finally have time—"

When Sister Etienne came into the room the couple was entwined into a tight embrace, their tongues playing and his big hands stoking over her back, tainting her with his lust. The nun gasped and gave out a sharp yell, but they only broke the kiss and remained embraced like the ivy hugs the oak. She pursed her lips and twirled around, walking out of the room with rapid, upset steps that echoed against the floor. As she shut the door behind her she heard two muffled laughers that followed her down the corridor and burned her pious soul like venom.

Epilogue:

Every end is the beginning of something new

There are mistakes in life that seems like harmless acts when committed and only in the light of their consequences gain the full range of their devastation. Sometimes such mistakes make us fall so hard we never rise again, they leave an imprint on our souls like a permanent watermark and split our lives into 'before' and 'after'. At other times we pull through, put the mistake to the records and shut the drawer.

There was a couple walking hand in hand through the streets of Nottingham on this day, covered in hoods and keeping to the shadows while searching the stands on the Nottingham Wednesday Market. The man shifts his hand to the woman's back as they lean in over a section of 'Gareth Barber's Exotic Goods', putting the palm to her waist and letting his rough cheek press to hers.

"Robin your beard is tickling me," Marian smiles and starts to go through the box filled with trinkets, drawing a hoarse laughter from her lower.

"You wouldn't have it any other way, admit it."

"I will admit no such thing—" she gives him a quick kiss and pulls out a gold ring with a single oval-shaped turquoise from the box. "What about this?"

Robin frowns and looks at the ring. "It is a bit small—simple. Isn't it?"

"I like it."

"Are you sure you want to pick the ring? I could choose one myself, we can afford better than that."

"I know you my darling," Marian smiles. "You will find one that is bigger and fancier than the one Guy gave me just to beat him, and I have no love for boastful jewels. I am an outlaw now, as are you. This is the perfect ring."

Robin rolls his eyes and gives the ring another critical look. It seems so small and simple. "One day we will be nobles again," he points out. "The other noblewomen will laugh at such a ring. They will say your husband is cheap and does not value you."

"And I will tell them he valued me enough to let me choose the engagement ring," Marian smiles and turns to Robin, giving him a coaxing kiss.

"Oh well," he sighs. "If that is the one you want—Mr Barber!"

Mr Barber comes carrying his youngest child on his hairy arm, lifting the sobbing boy to his broad shoulder where the tears turn into a puzzled expression and he grabs a handful of the father's hair. The couples' eyes freeze for a moment when they see the child, Robin's grip tightens round Marian's waist and he pulls her closer until his lips are grazing her ear. Her hands fall down to her stomach where there used to be a child growing and for the first time Robin finds a drop of grief over the baby they lost. The anger over the unborn child is gone and left is nothing but the slightly melancholic 'what if—'. Marian leans to him and sighs, feeling a reassuring kiss to her head and then the moment is over. The couple pulls apart a bit and Robin takes the ring, reaching it to Gareth Barber.

"Aye, a good choice, young Sir Robin!" Gareth exclaims. "All the way from Constantinople this one! I was told it was worn by the women of the King's harem—"

"Constantinople is a Christian city," Marian points out and cocks an eye brow at the salesman. "And don't they have an emperor?"

Gareth Barber looks a bit taken aback for a moment, then gives the amused couple a wide smile. "Ah but rings such as this one, they get around my good lady. Do you mind telling me what the occasion is Sir Robin? It is not like the men of the forest to buy trinkets."

"It is not," Robin says and pulls out some silver coins to pay for the ring. "Nor is it like the men of the forest to get engaged. Yet here I am. Have a good day, my friend, may God be with you."

---

In another part of the town there is a house being built. The men work with the swift hands of experienced workers, bit by bit letting the house grow and evolve around the steady frame. Will Scarlett sits in the shade with a flask of very light ale, wiping his sweaty brow and resting the axe against the wall. It has seen much blood, this axe of his, yet the feeling of the blade cutting into wood makes serenity fall over the young man, his spirit as peace with the world. His heart still aches for the woman that will never be his, but every day a washing maid called Linnet comes with lunch and a bashful smile, and he finds himself looking forward to those moments. He notices how her hips sway when she walks and gives her a crooked smile that makes her blush and turn away, shy like a girl facing a budding first love.

Jess Littlelamb comes over, shadowing her eyes with a hand that is strangely big and coarse compared to the rest of her finely built features, sitting down next to Will with a sort of content sigh.

"It is looking good," she says as Will tears his eyes away from the maid.

"Yes," Will agrees with a absent smile. "We will be done by next new moon. Are you sure you want it painted dark?"

"Aye, it is my trademark," Jess grins. "The Black Sheep cannot very well be white now can it?"

Will shakes his head and looks around. One of the other houses has already been rebuilt and he gives the handicraft a pleased look. Will Scarlett is good with wood.

"Are you sure you want to stick around?" Jess says. "We can do without you now that the frame is put up—"

"No I need to do this—I really do."

Will leans back towards the wall and takes another sip of the watery ale. This is his redemption, his way of moving on from the horrors of the last couple of weeks or months. He inhales the smell of fresh timber and squints at the building site bathing in sunlight. He was partly to blame for these buildings falling and he will be here when they are rebuilt. With a friendly smile at Jess Littlelamb he raises from the short break, takes up his axe and lets it rest comfortably in is hand. Then he moves the grip up to the blade and starts to knock slices of wood from a log with small, precise movements. There is a muffled thud-thud-thud from the blade hitting the wood, and he finds himself smiling absently from mere pleasure of the calming labour.

---

We do not choose the ones we love, but on another street in Nottingham Town an unlikely couple walks hand in hand. She is small and dark and laughs at a joke the man has told - a slightly accusing laughter because the joke was crude and a bit raunchy. The ally where they stroll is narrow and green from the stubborn grass and weeds, the grey walls of the houses lean in a bit like they are about to collapse and there is laundry hanging between the windows. The couple stops when they reach an open space, he moves his arms around her until her back is pressed tightly to his chest, and gives her throat a wet kiss. For a moment there is a question hanging in the air, like it always does when silence falls between them, if this is where they wish to be. They are such an odd match, and yet the days and nights shuffle them closer together. They sleep entangled like rodents in a lair, defying the world because rules are bendable and they have both had too much pain and loneliness. So the Saracen woman and the Christian man keeps walking side by side, her good heart and his treacherous spirit keeps seeking each other's company and in the silence there is intimacy that took them by surprise. The scar on his side is healing, the consequences of his treason fading even as all hope seemed lost.

There is a group of children on the open space and Djaq and Allan watches them from the shadows. A red headed kid with a real outlaw tag around his neck stands in the middle with a sour expression, co-leading the game together with a bigger kid that throws annoyed expressions at this new threat to his authority. A young girl with snot running down her nose is in the centre of everyone's attention, her wrinkled face red and wet from weeping and the hem of her dress brown with grime. Her hair is braided into a thick, golden tail that has been sun bleached and she wipes her nose with the back of her hand. Once the sobbing is under control she stares at the ginger haired boy with open hostility, knits her little fists and draws a trembling breath.

"No' fair," she sniffles and puts down her foot hard to the ground. "_I_ want to be Allan!!!"

_Fin_


End file.
